Never Tickle A Sleeping Dragon
by Lywhn
Summary: Post-war: 4 Egyptian guest-students, shadows of ancient gods at Hogwarts, a strange jackal and cat, and Death-Eaters out for revenge – in their 7th year the Golden 3 have to stop an old rising darkness; at their side an unwilling Draco. Full summ. inside
1. Prologue

**Autor's note**

_Dear readers,_

_Welcome to my story, I hope it holds your interest. I'm so excited to be able to add my version of 'what happens next.'_

_Loving the series since the very first chapter, it took me more than ten years to finally develop the following story. After Voldemort's death, there remains so many questions to answer regarding our heroes. Ms. Rowling left the end of the story wide open. Did our Trio or any of the others ever attend school again? She mused briefly that Hermione, of course, probably returned to school to complete her education, and to graduate properly._

_It made me wonder: What if they all returned to Hogwarts? What if they learned that, even though the Second Wizardry War just ended, that there was still a dark danger that had lingered far longer than Tom Riddle? What if the dark magic Riddle used was evolved from old secrets, secrets discovered and honed in an advanced culture existing long before the Western World defined their wizards and witches? What if this threat forced enemies together to fight the ultimate battle that would decide the future of the world?_

_There were many ancient cultures with mystics and miracles, but in no other was magic as integral as in the golden age of Egypt._

_I've been fascinated by Egypt and its history for most of my life (never traveled there, regrettably). I decided to let our heroes and their 'allies' cross paths with an old and deadly Egyptian curse and it's fallout. This is NOT a mummy story, nor of the 'a curse of the pharaoh' genre, but a tale all its own. I spent a long time searching for a foe that would challenge Harry, Ron, Hermione, Draco, and the others in Hogwarts, someone who could really get them into really deep water._

_I finally found him, an historical personage who was indeed condemned as a dark wizard in the era of Ramses III._

_The full summary follows:_

_We catch up with our heroes on the train ride to a restored Hogwarts, Hermione, Harry and Ron now returning to repeat their final year. Many were offered a chance to repeat their year because they missed so many lessons during Snape's and the Carrows' régime. Among the returning students is Draco Malfoy, much to Hermione's dismay. Of course, the house-rivals do not get along, but they have no time to develop their enmity for each other. The reason is the arrival of their new teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts._

_He arrives from Ashmounein, the Egyptian School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, accompanied of four of the best students in the school, in accordance with a new program of International Wizard Cooperation concocted by the Ministry. They are apportioned among the four houses, settle in quickly, and make friends with the other students. Before long, the peaceful schooldays become more serious._

_While the escaped Death Eaters seek vengeance on those who 'betrayed' Voldemort (like the Malfoys), even invading the area around Hogwarts, strange things are happening within the school. Shadows in form of ancient Egyptian gods are moving at night over the walls of Hogwarts, students sense the haunting, and old artifacts have gone missing. Hermione learns that there have been burglaries in Muggle museums in London, Berlin and Paris, only ancient Egyptian artifacts taken. The Golden Trio, their friends, and a rather unwilling Draco are forced to act. They learn that the four houses of the Egyptian school are bound together by an ancient link – far older than realized – and that there's also a connection with Hogwarts and its founder, Salazar Slytherin, the students that someone from long ago has come to collect a deadly prize._

_One thing more: This is a mixture of adventure, mystery and romance. Sparks fly between Hermione and Draco, their conflict escalating and developing in directions no one expected. Look for the Harry/Ginny, a jealous Ron, a wonderful Luna Lovegood who discovers her purpose in life, and the four mysterious Egyptian students whose souls are connected to ancient beings no one realized still existed._

_And now, TaDa! the Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor anyone else of the universe J.K. Rowling has created. Concerning the new portions: I researched ancient Egyptian traditions, gods, etc, and I write of them with the greatest respect of that old culture. The villain of this story is an historical person, only vaguely referenced in the old papyruses, and I use his name and manner of life with no intention to offend any possible descendents._

_Warning: The historical events concerning the death of Ramses III are slightly changed._

_I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I've enjoyed creating it,_

_Yours_

_Lywhn_

**Prologue**

Waset, Egypt, 24 Achet (Thebes, 20th June 1156, BC)

Mercilessly the sun beat down over the land of the Nile and onto the royal metropolis, the heat felt even inside the thick walls of the large palace hall. It shimmered between the grand columns, over the baronial walls with the images of battles and hunts, crept over the marble floors. Thick silence reigned within these walls, even peopled with guards, witnesses, observer, judges and the criminals who had been brought to face the final verdict in their trial.

"As for the words which the people have spoken, I know them not. Go ye and examine them. When they go out, and they examine them, they shall cause to die by their own hand, those who should die, without my knowing it. They shall execute the punishment upon the others, likewise without my knowing it. When ye go see to it that ye give heed, and have a care lest ye execute punishment upon ... unjustly ... Now, I say to you in very truth, as for all that has been done, and those who have done it, let all that they have done fall upon their own heads; while I am protected and defended forever, while I am among the just kings, who are before Amon-Re, king of gods, and before Osiris, ruler of eternity."

The elder of the Noble Court of Examination looked up from the papyrus spread before him, containing the last words of Ramses III, dictated shortly before his death 72 days before. To soothe the nation, shaken by the conspiracy against their beloved pharaoh, the priesthood and the nobles of the court had officially declared that Ramses simply died of old age, and not that he had fallen prey to the despicable complot that his second-born son and his secondary wife Tiy had initiated. But the well informed knew better. The plot had been successful, even if the pharaoh had survived several weeks longer than his murderer had planned. It was enough time to uncover those who had initiated the plan before the dark magic, woven by one of his most trusted men, had sapped his final strength. Day by day, life had drained from him, first from his body, then from his soul. What no enemy warrior could do, what no poison had ever accomplished was dealt to him by his own flesh and blood, empowered by magic in its darkest and cruellest form.

Ramses III died on the 15th Schemu III (_15__th__ April, note of the author_), but being a living god by status, he had the right to pronounce death-sentences, even after leaving the world of the living. The papyrus he signed made the Eldest of the Court his mouthpiece, and the Court would show no mercy to the conspirators, neither to the second queen and her son, nor to those whose minds had been poisoned by the brutal hunger for power.

Penhuibin, in earlier times the overseer of the herds, and now one of the most powerful warlocks in Thebes, straightened his strong body and coldly returned the glare of the Court members, showing no regret. As a child, he had realized that he could do things other people could not. Some priests soon recognized that he had magical powers far stronger than the other so-called 'wizards,' and he was trained by them to fulfil his duty to the pharaoh and the nation, using his magical skills to benefit the nation and his pharaoh, to heal and protect – by assuring that no wild beasts or robbers would steal the royal animals. _What a waste! What a despicable responsibility he was entrusted with! It was far below his talents! He should have been the first of all priests, by Osiris, he should have sat on the throne! Not this old man who had left his best years behind!_

As Pebekkamen, the first of the chamber, came to him and offered him the chance to show all of Egypt and the bordering countries his true powers, Penhuibin chose to follow. With the help of Pebekkamen and the son of Queen Tiy, the strongest books of magic hidden in the Royal Library had been brought to him, and he had learned more than most of the other magicians had ever attempted.

_They should have succeeded! They should have brought Ramses to his knees! The old babbling monarch should never have been able to react!_

But that's not how it happened. The conspiracy had been exposed and all those attempting to place another man on the throne were brought to trial, facing certain death.

The judge's eyes scoured him, and he fought a mocking smile as he returned the look of the old man. "Penhuibin, you've brought to trial because of the great crimes against our god and lord, conspiring with Pebekkamen and the prince, whose real name shall never be spoken nor written again. You are accused of using black magic to bewitch those who had been faithful to our lord. You blinded and bewildered them, robbed them of their free will and deafened their ears to every truthful word that was spoken. You built wax-figures and tortured them to weaken those who loved our lord and would never have betrayed him. You wove webs of fear and sin around guards and servants. Your deeds weakened our soldiers and endangered our nation, but above all your magic took our lord's life. Many witnesses have been heard, and they all confirmed the expectations of this Court: You are guilty of all evil deeds of which you have been accused. Do you have any rebuff?"

Penhuibin pursed his full lips, piercing black eyes engaging the two other co-conspirators, also facing the final trial. Pebekkamen stood motionless and silent beside him. The prince, who would go down in history under the name Pentewere, his true name lost forever, showed a mask of cold fury. His mother Tiy had wanted to win the throne for him. She'd been sentenced before them, and no one would ever know of her fate.

He took a deep breath, answering slowly, with only a hint of the arrogance he had shown his whole life: "I was born with magic in my blood. I could have been great, if given a chance, but I was condemned to the lowly work of a slave, a _herdsman_. Ramses feared me. He feared my might and he paid the price of underestimating me, me, whom he should have considered a friend and ally, a partner with him in power. I do not regret what I've done. There will always be those who fear what they don't understand. I am a wizard. There will be generations of wizards who will come after me, and someday there will be two worlds: one of blind people with no magic, and one that belongs to those like me. It is for those generations to come that I fought. For my people, in time, the world will change one day. For this I will face my fate with pride."

Murmurs swept the hall, shock, outrage. The members of the Court whispered to each other, priests were grumbling and nodding. Finally the elder of the Court spoke again.

"So be it! You, Penhuibin, will be punished for your evil deeds and the harm you brought to your countrymen. Our lord's wish was that the guilty be put to death. As you are not a servant, we will grant you the opportunity to end your life as you choose. In judgment, your body will not be preserved for the afterlife. It is the decision of the priesthood that Anubis not be offended by encountering your face and Toth will never write of Osiris' trial concerning you. Your body will be burned, but the ashes will not be spread over the streets, for they may infect the innocent. Your ashes will buried at the feet of the man you murdered. Your soul will never walk in the afterlife, nor will it be devoured by Ammit. Damned to suspension forever in the ether, you will be condemned to confront your sins until end of time!"

Penhuibin was dressed only in a loincloth, for clothing demonstrated status. The Court had assumed that that he would be terrified by a fate that others feared more than anything else, but they were mistaken. The figure before them did not cower, nor tremble, nor fall to his knees and beg for mercy. Instead, he lifted his chin and tensed his muscles. He spoke, eyes flashing, his voice soft but reverberating about the chamber, dark, full of venom and rage. "You bound my mind to bring me to this trial. You took away my staff to prevent me from helping you to see things from my point. But I am not as defenceless as you think!" He smiled, almost triumphantly. "I am free to choose my death? So be it!" he cried, his deep voice now booming through the hall. Even without his staff, his power was amazing, and if not for the spells of restraint the priest had put upon him, he certainly would have cursed them all and escaped, so he chose the only method he knew that could bring him back someday.

The ropes that bound his wrists were suddenly gone, and the hot air started to move, to whirl, to rage through the hall like a storm, sweeping the guards from their feet. Throwing his head back, Penhuibin spoke words in a language none could understand, and the wind increased. The priests and judges cried out in alarm, the guards tried to rise and to run towards him. His two fellow-conspirators backed away, terrified. Dark dust rose from the floor and danced around the wizard, enveloping him like a black cloud. In an instant, he stood before the Eldest of the Court who had been hurled to the floor from the force of the loosed magic. Bending down, Penhuibin seized the gold and silver dagger that belonged to Ramses, the icon representing the pharaoh at the trial.

Raising it over the horrified assembly, Penhuibin shouted: "My blood will spread through the world and will be in all those who serve Aphopis, the snake of the night. My ashes will become earth, from earth comes life! I will return like the phoenix – with fire and perdition! I lived twenty-eight years. One hundred thirteen days I was in power within this walls. One hundred thirteen years shall pass twenty-eight times before I return. This dagger will be my tool, this dagger will contain my mind, this dagger will be my passage!"

With those words he plunged the blade deep into his own heart, the home of the soul and spirit. The dagger glowed like an unholy fire; the blood that poured out from the fatal wound was picked up by the diabolical wind, and spread to everyone in the hall like a plague of locusts. As Penhuibin's body fell to the floor, his essence infused into the blade, the wind suddenly died down. The blood spattered by an unseen hand burned all it touched like acid.

Finally, silence returned. Trembling, shaking, the members of the Court and the priests rose to their feet. They had all underestimated the powerful magic Penhuibin commanded. The Elder swallowed and his voice was hoarse, as he said: "Death has come to the traitor. Take his body and burn it, as sentence was given. And take the dagger to our lord's temple at Medinet Habu. May Osiris watch over the devil's blade, for he is the lord of death and will not allow escape from his realm."

And so it came to pass. Penhuibin's body was immediately cremated and locked away in an urn, placed at Ramses' feet outside of is sarcophagus in Wadi Biban el-Muluk, the Valley of the Kings. The dagger was well hidden at the feet of the statue of Osiris, in the very temple Ramses caused to be built during his lifetime.

But the dagger vanished. One morning the priests could not find it in its place. The country was searched from the Great Sea to the southern mountains, but there was not even a tale told of its whereabouts. It was surmised that follower of Penhuibin took it to safety, passing it from wizard to wizard, and the captured mind encased in its blade waited.

And as the pharaoh's grave was opened for visitors during the Greek- and Roman epoch a thousand years later, none knew of the dark secret of the urn that was found there, ready to release an ancient evil to the world.

Twenty-eight times one hundred thirteen years did pass, until it was up to a handful of young people in a far away land to pay the price for the contempt and ignorant negligence of the Court's judges and guards…

TBC…


	2. Why him?

**Chapter 1 – Why him?**

_3163 years later – A hidden railway in England, near the northern border_

The door to the elegant compartment opened then closed behind the tall pale student who exited. The young girl waiting to enter stood paralyzed in shock for a moment, immediately recognizing the owner of that smirk, then entered the compartment and sat. The candy-apple-red train engine gave one a loud whistle and the grey smoke was soon huffing out of the stack. As the train gracefully manoeuvred through the curves, you could see the smoke from the windows of said compartment, those that weren't covered with deep red velvet. If you looked more closely, you might place the accoutrements of this train from the late twentieth century. It was furnished with a desk, several elegant _belle epoch _chairs and a sideboard, the velvet curtains were pulled aside by golden-tasselled cords of silk, and a crystal chandelier tinkled softly in the rhythm of the train's movements. The floor was thickly carpeted, a rich red pattern capturing the theme of the décor. Books, papers and a quill with an inkstand covered the desk. The spicy aroma of an exotic tea hung in the air. A large coat of arms hung on the wall opposite the entrance, its four quarters showing a golden lion on red background, a silver snake on green, a golden eagle on blue, and a grey badger on yellow, encircled in gold. The shield revealed the purpose of this special train. It was the emblem of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Behind the desk sat an elder woman, her appearance at least a decade shy of her real age. Her firm lean face allowed fine crow's feet and smile lines, accentuated by the high collar of her black dress, her nearly salt-and-pepper hair was pulled into a neat bun on the back of her head, a pointed, black hat with a feather beside her on the desk. Her mouth was thin and stern. Her large blue eyes, displaying a greater depth than a living soul should carry, looked weary. But there was a fire there as well that few were foolhardy enough to challenge.

In front of her desk sat the girl on the brink of womanhood. Her bushy brown hair, highlighted by the sun, was bound into a careless ponytail. Several curls had escaped the elastic and danced around her heart-shaped face. As a child, you would never have noticed her on the street, her mousy appearance blending into the scenery. Dressed in her school-uniform, always with an oversized bag on her back and, nearly always, additional books in her arms, you would rightly identify her as a bookworm. But the years and the hardships had sculpted the gawky buck-toothed know-it-all to the sweet creature sitting there now. Her slender, petite figure had developed the soft curves even the quite sensible school uniform could no longer hide. The smooth skin of her appealing face showed a hint of last summer's sun and her eyes were a dark-chocolate brown. Her full lips bore a natural shade of deep pink that others spent good money trying to imitate. All in all she had grown into a natural beauty, the ugly duckling had grown into a swan, with the added appeal of her vast trove of knowledge and keen native intelligence.

But at this moment, her face was pale beneath the tan, her generous lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes showed a mixture of shock, a horror born of near despair.

"But, Professor, why- WHY HIM?"

Hermione Jean Granger, who was called rightly 'the brightest witch of her age' and who was careful to give each teacher the respect of their rank, finally regained her voice and did something she'd never done before – she raised her voice against a professor. And not just any professor, but to the new headmistress. Minerva McGonagall sighed and eyed the best student in the school (and one of her favourites as well).

After Severus Snape had been murdered by Voldemort, Minerva McGonagall was chosen to be the new headmistress, something Hermione would have bet her beloved library pass on. The Head of Gryffindor house had served for decades alongside the 'finest headmaster Hogwarts has ever known,' Albus Dumbledore. She had been his right hand, so to speak, and to name her the new headmistress had been the 'amen' to the hymn of Professor Dumbledore's tenure.

This had proven most fortunate for the students, because the strict Transfiguration teacher would run the school with a firm but gentle hand, and she was trusted by everyone. This was vitally necessary after their most difficult last year, when the future of the whole wizarding world was at stake, and Voldemort had nearly found a way to rule them all.

That year, students who were not of "pure" blood fled from the schools in fear of their lives. Even those whose blood was "pure" – that is, having both parents who were magical – found the atmosphere and policies of the school exceedingly ... objectionable.

Because of the degenerating atmosphere, many of the students had fled the school, or had missed many classes, developing their own "underground." Minerva had visited the Ministry of Magic many times in the last weeks, interceding for her students so that they would have the opportunity to re-take the classes they had missed, and finally, her petitions had been granted. It was nearly impossible to refuse Minerva McGonagall when she set her purposes in a firm direction. Her tenacity and hard-headedness had brought the desired results – those who hadn't been able to attend their proper classes over the last year could repeat the entire year, or test out of it.

Her determination had also ensured that the children of those families who had worked for the 'Dark Lord', but turned away from his evil purposes before the end, were gladly welcomed back to Hogwarts, as well. And one of those 'children,' a young man now, was the reason for Hermione's inner turmoil and voluble objection.

Hermione admired this professor very much, but in the last five minutes, the girl was brought nearly to a state of shock. How _could_ her _own_ head of house put her in a position like this? How could McGonagall, whom she trusted with ever fibre of her being, put her into this hellish situation? Yes, any female student would be delighted and honoured to be the Head Girl – a position that brought many responsibilities, and showed the trust of the teachers in her abilities – but there was a catch: There was also a Head Boy, and the one who'd been chosen this year was her very own personal enemy; her nemesis, you might say.

"Everyone is given a second chance, Miss Granger, so why not him?" Professor McGonagall responded after Hermione's shocked outcry.

"But… he was made Prefect before and took none of the responsibilities! He… he abused his status. And, what's more, Professor, he brought _Death-Eaters_ into our school, because of _him_ Professor Dumbledore fell prey to them, and he was one of Voldemort's _most loyal servants_!"

The girl couldn't see the slightest reason why this boy had been given such a responsible position. That bloody git loved to taunt and torment those who were weaker than he, which was, in truth, pretty much the whole school! How could McGonagall allow him the opportunity to behave toward younger students in his usual vile manner, then justify his actions with the lazy comment he did it in fulfilling his duty by teaching the younger ones a 'lesson'? The professor was handing those poor innocents to him on a silver platter!

"We both know the stress Mr. Malfoy was under in his sixth year. I do think his unwholesome state didn't slip your attention. And during the few days of his seventh year he was able to attend, he was in no better condition. I daresay he was even worse. Concerning the negative behaviour you mentioned: He had no other choice than to obey the instructions of his father. He was responsible for keeping his family safe, which was teetering near a fall from grace in Voldemort's eyes. And, as Mr. Potter has reported to us both, he could not bring himself to fulfil the Dark Lord's order and kill Professor Dumbledore. He was almost persuaded to come over to our side in that dreadful moment, had his aunt not interrupted. Now, Miss Granger, concerning Lucius Malfoy: Just as Mr. Potter revealed himself and killed the Dark Lord, Mr. Malfoy himself protected several students and defended them against four Death-Eaters, among them Rodolphus Lestrange. I was there, Miss Granger. Without his help, as far as Mr. Malfoy knew, those students would not have made it out alive." _Why was she justifying her actions to this student? _she asked herself, then answered immediately, _Because it matters._

The professor had reached out and gently touched the hand of the Head Girl – a personal gesture Hermione had never known the woman to make. "Hermione, I know your personal history with him, but in this war it was not the people on our side who suffered. Draco Malfoy has been through a lot, knowing the lives of his parents were in his hands moment to moment. His soul is damaged as are so many others who had to face the cruelty of Voldemort's last effort to rule our world. Draco can be saved, if we give him a chance to prove himself worthy of the trust the Ministry and I put in him. He _needs_ to prove himself, and I am the last one who would damn a student for nearly breaking under the pressure he was forced to endure." The judicious eyes of Minerva were fixed on Hermione's. "And I think you understand this, deep in your heart."

The girl heaved a sigh. "Any other student I might agree with you, but Malfoy is just … Malfoy. He only cares for himself. He would never accept help from any of us, and reject us all out of hand with a sneer. He is a cold-hearted bas-"

"Have you offered yours to him?" The professor's voice was firmer now, interrupting Hermione's thought.

"We … We haven't said much to each other, Professor, only in passing," Granger slowly answered. '_If you can call muttering a curt surname in passing a greeting.'_

"I trust that you will do everything in your power to make this work," the woman continued, once again the stern headmistress of Hogwarts. "Choosing Draco as Head Boy was not only to give him personally a second chance, but to send a message to those families who had served under the Dark Lord – willingly or unwillingly. Those whose eyes were opened during the war and stood against Voldemort, and those who helped us in the end should know that the side of Light can offer them what Tom Riddle could never give them." Her eyes seemed to bore a hole into the heart of the young witch.

"Forgiveness?" Hermione murmured the answer more like a question, and Minerva nodded.

"Yes, forgiveness. Of course, in certain cases it has to be earned – like in that of Mr. Malfoy – but I am certain that those to whom we're offering our forgiveness will not only be grateful, but also realize that in the end, they chose the right path."

Hermione bit her lip. "It ... it's not that I don't want to give someone a second chance, but-" she wrung her hands, "Professor, I'll practically _live_ with him! The entire school isn't big enough for both of us, let alone assigning us to one living-area!"

The hint of an amused smile darted across the brow of the headmistress and vanished so quickly you might think you'd been wrong to imagine it. "You two have separate bed chambers and work areas, the common-room is large enough to offer comfort for _twenty_ students and thus gives plenty of space for you both, and I am certain that you two will be able to make some arrangements concerning the bathroom, if you don't want to use the Prefect's bathroom on the fifth floor."

Hermione shuddered. The first person she would see in the morning during the next ten months would be Malfoy! Intolerable!

McGonagall watched her closely another moment, then she rose, signalling the audience was at an end. "I hope you two will make the best of it. After all, you aren't exactly children anymore, and I do believe I can expect two grown-ups to act like grown-ups."

Hermione stood up, too, and nodded finally, fighting back a grimace. "I'll do my very best, Professor."

Minerva glanced at her again, then allowed a small smile to reach her mouth while the little scar on her cheek – a souvenir of the battle of of Hogwarts four months ago – deepened. "I expected no less from you, Miss Granger. Oh, and by the way, I am positive sure that you and Mr. Malfoy will not find it easy to fall back into your former behaviour patterns. This year Hogwarts will need its Head Girl and Boy to perform additional duties. I do hope that your personal differences will not interfere when your abilities and knowledge will be required to represent not only our school, but the northern people of our world."

Hermione's head snapped up and her eyes showed a mild alarm. "_What_?" Her voice was no more than a squeak and McGonagall waved her slender hand.

"You and Mr. Malfoy will learn about it soon enough, as well as the rest of the students. And now I think the Prefects are waiting for you both. So please, don't let me keep you from your duties."

The girl reluctantly turned to leave, then hesitated. "Professor, may I ask you a uh … more personal question?" Seeing the headmistress simply raising her eyebrows, Hermione proceeded cautiously: "I know that several teachers use the train to travel to Hogwarts, but I never saw the headmaster here, nor you. Can you tell me why-?" She halted, a blush creeping into her cheeks.

The older woman's smile was back. "Why am I now travelling on the Hogwarts Express with all of you, when I should already be at school?" She folded her hands, explaining, "You are right, Miss Granger. Usually the headmaster awaits the students' arrival in Hogwarts, but you see, even a professor in my position does not appreciate the extensive noise and dirt of the post-war reconstruction of our school. I also had many meetings at the Ministry." Suddenly her stern mask slipped and she added with a chuckle: "And I also wanted to prevent you and Mr. Malfoy from going for each other's throats. Knowing his brittle demeanour, and your tendency to erupt when provoked, I thought it safer to talk to you both before we arrived at school."

Nodding politely toward the new Head Girl, Hermione knew she was being dismissed, so she left the teacher's plush chamber, more confused and irritated than before. Sighing, she was greeted with a sight she would have to deal with all this year. There, leaning against a window, stood the reason for her turmoil, arms crossed, watching her with cool grey eyes, the silver ring of Slytherin house on his right ring-finger. The sunlight shimmered in his silver-blond, expensively styled hair, looking almost like a halo. The corners of Hermione's mouth turned south, for she knew that a halo was the last thing this individual was destined to wear.

Draco Malfoy had grown a lot in the last two years and his broadening shoulders and his lean body showed the man he was becoming. Wearing his school-uniform with the badge of his status, the robe slung over his left arm, you could no longer mistake him for a child. He let the last traces of his childhood behind the last year, as Voldemort's manic bid for power and domination had reached its height, and the Dark Lord had taken over Malfoy Manor whenever he was in Britain.

Mockery curled his upper lip in pale, sharp face with the classic, aristocratic features. Then he drawled, "Finished whining, Granger?"

Hermione took a deep breath – _'Calm down, he isn't worth it!'_ – straightened her shoulders and strode toward him. "I never whine, Malfoy! That's reserved for little boys, cowards who are only bold in large numbers, or perhaps facing someone weaker," she answered flatly, passing him by.

"Tsk, tsk, Granger, hasn't our dear headmistress told you to be nice?" he asked sarcastically and followed her, nearly running into her as she suddenly whirled around. "Hey," he growled and lifted both brows in surprise feeling her index-finger jabbing hard into his chest.

Her voice was cold and hard. "Let's get a few things straight, Malfoy: First, no-one has to tell me to be nice. To those who are truthful and respectful, I am polite and obliging. But don't expect me to be more than barely civil toward someone who is a two-faced, arrogant coward with ice-water in is so-called _pureblood_ veins!"

"Ouch!" he reacted with counterfeit hurt, his eyes becoming smaller. "And don't touch me!"

"Second," Hermione continued, ignoring his comment, fists on her hips. "I see no reason why you, of all people, were made Head Boy. There are other male Prefects who have _earned_ the position, and took their responsibility as Prefects seriously, unlike you in our sixth year, but maybe McGonagall chose to take pity on you, so I have to live with that." She saw the anger brewing in his eyes as his control slipped for a moment, but she ignored it. "It's not up to me to contradict the decision of the headmistress, but it _is_ up to me to make the best of it, so put a cork in the mockery and we can start by being civil to each other."

His features grew darker. How _dare_ she…?

"And third, if you think you can use your position to abuse younger students or take advantage of me, then you've got another 'think' coming. I'll be watching, and you won't get away with any of your old tricks! Do I make myself clear?"

He stared at her with those fathomless eyes, which seemed to reveal nothing at all, but glowed for several heartbeats with an unholy fire. "Take advantage of _you_?" he asked, looking her up and down and chuckling mirthlessly. "Really, Granger, I could never be desperate enough to touch a Muggleborn, especially _you_."

Hermione frowned, momentarily puzzled, then she realized what he meant and turned red – half in embarrassment, half in fury. "Malfoy, your brain is only good for two things, tormenting others and getting into a girl's knickers. But no fear: if you were the last man on earth, I'd rather die a virgin!"

He sneered. "No fear, Granger, I'd prefer the same, even if there were _millions_ of witches on Earth!"

"If they are wizards like you and your father? Gladly! But real men? No problem at all!" she retorted, turned on her heel stalked down to the Prefects' compartment.

Draco stared after her. _Did she get the last word? Show him her back while he was talking to her? Who did she think she was? _

Damn her to hell and back! Why did the bloody Head Girl have to be Hermione Know-It-All Granger? ANY other female would have been delightful compared to this snobbish Mudblood bookworm, with that ugly mop of curls she called 'hair' and her freakishly quick mind! But if she thought she could get the best of him, then she would bloody her nose running into THAT wall.

He caught her hard by the upper arm just as she reached to open the door to the next compartment. Her momentum swung her around to face him, and she instinctively she took hold of the first solid thing she could – him. His other hand, vise-like on her shoulder, a ferocity in his face, he looked down at her. The last time she'd been this close to Malfoy was in their third year when her anger got the better of her and she punched him in the face. Unlike that event over four years ago, there was no fear in his face, only a bright anger.

"And now _you_ will listen, Granger, because I will not repeat myself." His voice was low and threatening. "You, Scar-head and the Weasel are not the only ones who suffered last year, and forced to live an existence you didn't want. You're not the only ones who faced horror beyond imagining, but those dark times are now in the past. I'm returning to Hogwarts to complete my education properly, and I will not allow a stupid bint like you to stop me. There are three things that YOU had better take into your stubborn head – after all, you are the oversized brain of the Golden Trio, aren't you?" He didn't pause to allow her answer and went on sharply: "First: You will not boss me around! Second: You only talk to me if our duties make it necessary. And third: You stay the hell out of my affairs."

Hermione watched him, alert and holding her breath. She knew that the once spoiled, whiny brat had turned into a dangerous young man during the last two years. He was not only stronger than she, but she was fairly certain that he had no morals or scruples. And as she watched his snarling face, she saw again that he was almost a head taller than she. His proximity made her uneasy, while she could feel the warmth that radiated from him, like the fire that surely was flaring through his mind and veins. The controlled frustration and fury in his eyes gave his inner turmoil away, while he clenched his jaw with the muscle twitching on the side of his face.

"And one last thing, _Mudblood_," he spat. "I will not tolerate any kind of insults toward my family or my person."

To hear that dreadful term once more shouldn't have bothered her. She'd heard it too often from him, but it still stung. Narrowing her dark eyes she answered harshly: "Shout at a mountain and you will hear the echoes, Malfoy. I've never called you names nor tried to hurt you OR your family in any way during the last seven years. And I am not the one who stood motionless in the same room and watched the YOU being tortured."

Draco swallowed the rising guilt and snorted. "Believe it or not, but you weren't the only one mistreated during the war. And it seems you are still healthy and sane, aren't you?"

Hermione tried to block out the memory of his aunt Bellatrix Lestrange using the Cruciatus curse on her, agony she had never imagined anyone could bear. And in that memory he was there, too: a tall, slender shadow at the edge of the room. Her cold anger was growing hot. Taking a deep breath, she twisted out of his grip and shoved him away with all her might. Not expecting this, he promptly stumbled two steps back and let go of her. "My point, Malfoy, is that you stood right there and did absolutely _nothing_ to deter you crazy aunt! You LET her torture me, you bastard, and watched the whole thing in silence! Let me guess: You enjoy hearing the screams of those in pain! You probably torture puppies and pull the wings off of butterflies, too!"

For some unknown reason, those last sentences felt like a hard slap to his face and his pale cheeks pinked a bit. Her words were the reason for an admission he never would have made otherwise. "No, I don't! I _loathed_ the whole shi-" He stopped himself before he gave away too much and gritted his teeth. "Perhaps next time I will enjoy it, seeing what a bitch you are, but the truth is -"

"You didn't move _one bloody finger_ to help your own class-mates!" she screeched, the wrath and fear, bottled up for months now, finally spilling over.

"And what is it I should have done, Granger? What possible move could I have made to rescue you?" he shouted, his patience now worn through. "You were alone and wand-less, I was alone." He grimaced, remembering the hopelessness of his situation at the time. "So helping you would have been no problem!" He sneered at the absurdity of the proposal. "You could have taken half of the Death-Eaters in the room, including Greyback, and I could have taken the other half, including my aunt! We _so_ could have defeated them all!" He closed the distance to her and took her shoulders again. "In case you didn't know it, Granger, my parents and I were _prisoners_ in our house! _I_ was a prisoner there. _I _had to expiate for the wrong decisions, the mistakes of my father. _I_ had to protect my mother. _I _had to endure the foul presence of a creature barely recognizable as a human being, fearing that any minute he would kill us all! I tried to help Potter, Weasley and you by not confirming your identities, but quite regrettably, you three were too bloody _stupid_ to use a simple transforming-charm correctly on yourself before you were caught, so that even my parents recognized you!"

_It was true, he had avoided looking closely at her, Ron and Harry, and he hadn't really confirmed that it had been them, whom Greyback and the others took prisoner. But still… _"So why didn't you set Harry and Ron free when you were ordered to fetch Griphook from the dungeons? Why did you attack them when they finally escaped and tried to rescue me?"

"I was using shield-charms, you silly git!" he shouted. "I had to keep my mother and my unprotected father safe from all those crazy curses my aunt was hurling! And if Potter hadn't been so bleeding determined to disarm me, he might have taken the hint that I wasn't fighting against him and could have directed his attention to a more urgent matter at hand – like knocking off my aunt, for instance!"

Her gaze was hard and unforgiving. "You really had to think hard to come up with that story," Hermione hissed after several seconds. "But I don't trust you, Malfoy! Your 'defensive support' was nothing more than your typical cowardice."

A vein started to pulse at his temple and he bent down, so that is warm breath danced over her face. "How _dare_ you to call me a coward knowing what you know now?" he whispered, his eyes were like icy flames.

"Maybe if you had made up your bloody mind sooner and shown some courage, joined our fight – if this really was your choice – _maybe_ I could believe you and _eventually_ forgive you one day. But not today!" She pulled back, forcing him so to let go of her again, threw him one parting glare, turned around and strode away, her hands balled into fists.

Draco snarled again – he had tried being civil, hadn't he? "Hold it, Granger! You want to lay all the blame at my door? Call me a liar? I'll show you that the one who laughs last laughs the loudest, and that will be me, Granger, you'll hear it echoing from the walls!" He swore under his breath and followed her, determined to pull her off her high horse and to hurl her into the dirt where she belonged during the next weeks. Yes, he had loathed Voldemort's insane methods. There'd been times he thought he would lose his mind from the horror he was forced to witness. He had cringed inwardly, stonefaced, when he was confronted with the torture and death of others ... but this ... _git_ was something else.

She would ever be a thorn in his side, the permanent itch of a flea on the back of a wolf, a steady dripping of irritation, flaming anger and unwelcome guilt. The gall of her to speak to him like this, as if she – a Mudblood and living pain in the arse – were so much better than he. He would not allow her to lord it over him, would not tolerate her impertinence. Not only was he Head Boy with the same rights she had, but he was also the leader of his house. He was the Prince of Slytherin, for Merlin's sake! He would show this Muggle-born where her true place was: At his feet!

And as he walked toward the Prefects' compartment, he didn't see the headmistress' door softly closing.

Minerva McGonagall rubbed her temple – a headache already starting – and sighed deeply. It was good that all the denied frustrations and accusations were now out in the open – now better than later. But she hoped with all her heart that time and duty would open the eyes of the two most brilliant but also the most stubborn students of Hogwarts and teach them that you must let the past in the past, if you want to face the future in peace.

.

"I can't believe she did this!" Hermione ended her report to her friends after their first meeting with the Prefects, pacing back and forth. She finally stopped when a hand took her wrist. She looked into clear green eyes, enlarged by spectacles. The low voice was full of warmth and comfort, betraying the brotherly love that this boy, on the threshold to manhood, felt for her.

"'Mione, calm down. It's only Malfoy. Do you really think he is worth the drama?" Harry James Potter smiled gently at his long-time friend, knowing perfectly well how quickly Hermione's temperament could flare if a certain Slytherin rubbed her the wrong way.

"What do you mean with 'only,' Harry? I have to practically _live_ with that stupid ferret for a _whole year_!" the girl snapped, using one of their pseudonyms for Draco, referring to an incident in the fourth year as he had been turned into an albino-ferret for a few moments as a punishment, after he tried to hex Harry from behind. He had been caught by Professor Moody (who hadn't been the real Moody, but that doesn't enter this story). Half of the school, including Hermione, had guffawed as it became public that someone thought nothing of the status of the Malfoy name, and taught Draco a lesson.

"He is only that, Hermione, a ferret!" Ginny Weasley added, exchanging a quick glance with her boyfriend. He was running his fingers through his unruly black hair. She pushed a copper strand behind her ear and continued: "You have to remain above childish bickering, 'Mione. If you respond every time he opens his smarmy mouth, he'll be very pleased with himself. Isn't that the last thing you want?"

Hermione sighed and dropped into the only free seat in the Gryffindor-compartment. Crookshanks, the ginger-coloured half-Kneazle, meowed in protest, jumping aside just in time as his mistress took his place. The half-Kneazle was the off-spring of an ordinary cat and a Kneazle, a intelligent cat-like animal that can solve problems of its own, can see past a transformation, and bears an unrelenting loyalty for the human it's attached to. "Sorry, Crooks," she murmured and picked up the hissing animal, put it on her lap and pulled it close to her chest. Crookshanks glanced at her, but started to purr as soon as she cuddled him. Looking like a cross between a Persian-cat and a dried mop, the animal was no beauty, but its gracefulness and cleverness made up for it, in their opinion.

"Did he verbally abuse you at the meeting with McGonagall or the Prefects?" Ronald Weasley, only four months older than Harry, asked the girl he had finally begun to fall in love with. His frown was nearly lost in the freckles. He was taller than Harry and grown more muscular during the last year, but there was still a boy left in him. Even though he had lost a brother in the Second Wizardry War, had faced deprivation, cruelty, death. He had seen more than any teenager should – along with Harry, Hermione and a few other students from 'Dumbledore's Army,' only the changes of him were less obvious than in the others.

He had been Prefect in the fifth and sixth year, too, but he hadn't retained his title. In addition, he had to concentrate on the classes to make his N.E.W.T. (Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests.) Having been forced to interrupt school for a whole year gave him problems enough, without additional responsibilities as a Prefect.

"No, not at first," Hermione mumbled in reply and sighed. "Truthfully, I was the one who started the argument and snapped at him before we met with the Prefects." She knew she had surprised them all, but kept her eyes on Crookshanks. It was very unlike her to start something like that, but Ginny nodded slowly. As a Prefect she had been at the meeting, too, of course, and the atmosphere around the two Head-Students had been like dry tinder, ready to burst into flame at the first cross-eyed look. "He … he just makes me so angry! I see red whenever he comes into view," Hermione continued, exasperated. Crookshanks looked up into her face and meowed sympathetically.

"Neat trick, since he's nearly as pale as a ghost," Harry joked to lighten the mood.

Granger snorted. "To think of the many times I have to endure being around him, even out of class, I have to breathe deeply. After all, McGonagall expects me to act 'civil,' you know, 'adult'."

"Hmm, you really got the short end of the stick, didn't you?" the other young man grumbled and blowing a fox-red strand off his forehead. All of them had been enemies of Draco Malfoy from the very first day at Hogwarts, but Ron was subjected to the Slytherin's verbal attacks the more than the others.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "The very short end, Ron." She shook her head. "And I was so happy when I learned that they decided to give the Head Girl's position to me, but now-" She leaned her head back. "Perhaps our additional duties will keep us so busy that we hardly see each other. Maybe he'll be so wrapped up in his work and the seventh year requirements that he'll be too tired to open his mealy Slytherin mouth!"

She had their attention. "What kind of additional duties?" Harry asked, scratching the lightning image scarring on his forehead. Since Voldemort's death, it hadn't pained him, but from time to time it itched, just like any normal scar.

"I don't know. McGonagall only gave us hints. She's been meeting at the Ministry of Magic about it."

Ron pursed is lips. "If I had known about it earlier I could have asked Percy. You know he's back at his old job. Maybe he could have given us some information."

"Percy telling us something about the Ministry?" Ginny laughed at her elder brother. "Really, Ron, do you still believe in the stork?" The others grinned at the jibe, and Ron shrugged, smiling at the suggestion. It was well known that the eldest son of the Weasley-family took his job at the Ministry deadly seriously. Before the Second War flared up to its ugly climax, Percy had even quit talking to his own family, siding with the Ministry and against Harry, but by losing Fred – his younger brother, one of the twins – and perceiving the evil the Ministry had so deliberately avoided seeing, he had finally come to his senses and returned to support his family.

"Did she say any more?" Harry asked, and Hermione heaved a sigh. "McGonagall spoke of our responsibilities, our talents, and how we will be required to represent not only our school, but the northern people of the wizarding world."

Ron whistled. "Drat! And here I thought we would have a normal school-year this time. But it sounds as if they want to give us a special farewell. You know the saying: When you're done with school, the rest of your life is easy."

Ginny giggled again, then turned serious again. "What do you think it could be, Harry?" she asked him, and he shrugged his shoulders. "It could be anything," he mused. "Maybe a new kind of schedule, a crop of new teachers, a completely new kind of final tests …"

"Nah," Ron shook his head. "There's got to be more to it than that!"

The last hours of their journey, they no more of their summer holidays. After all, Harry had stayed with the Weasleys at the Burrow, for the family moved in again, and Hermione had visited them for the last four days of their vacation. Instead, much of the conversation dealt with speculation about what their new headmistress had dropped the hint about. As the evening sun passed the horizon, and the first stars gleamed in the eastern skies, the Hogwarts-Express slowed, nearing neared its destination, and they had reached no conclusions. The enormous castle enthroned on the mountainside above the black-and-silver lake was a dark outline in a darker sky, dappled with golden candlelit windows. Suddenly, the nearly-full moon emerged from behind a cloud and illuminated the rough grey walls, bathing the many towers in a silver light. There was magic in the air, as the Golden Trio and Ginny left the train. They were greeted by the warm evening-air filled with the scent of herbs that the Scottish Highlands were famous for in late August and September.

Hermione immediately began seeking out the Prefects, whose first duty was to take care that the younger students didn't miss the last leg of the journey to Hogwarts. From nearby, a deep voice drowned out the chattering of the pupil, calling the newcomers of the first year towards him: "First-years to me! First-years to me!"

Even though duty called, Hermione couldn't keep from running toward a figure double the size of a normal human being. He carried a lantern and its light revealed a wild hirsute mane of dark hair, a matching full beard speckled with grey and sparkling dark eyes. "Hagrid!" she cried in glee, pushing herself through the other students and the man turned around.

A shout of glee escaped the half-giant, and he bent down and pulled the girl into a bear hug with a happy "Hermione! How was yer summer?" he asked, momentarily forgetting the first year students gathering around him. "Did yeh find yer parents?"

Granger nodded happily, while Crookshanks hissed, caught between the two. "Yes, I found them. Minister Shacklebolt sent a personal owl to the Minister of New Zealand, and they helped find my parents in Australia, and then remove the _Obliviate_-Charm I used on Mom and Dad. They now remember I'm their daughter. I explained them why I had to hex them in order to keep them safe from Voldemort's goons." She sighed, remembering. "There were a lot of tears some days."

Rubeus Hagrid, the Keeper of the Keys and Groundkeeper of Hogwarts, Care of Magical Creatures teacher, nodded and stroked her cheek with one enormous finger. "I'm glad for yeh, 'Mione," he grumbled, before his attention was diverted to the three other teens who stood behind Hermione, grinning ear to ear. "My, an' there be the res' of my friends!" Hermione stepped aside as he pulled Harry, Ron and Ginny into that all-inclusive hug, and beamed down on them.

"Hagrid, would you please be so kind as to make certain that the first-years are safely escorted to Hogwarts?" McGonagall stood several metres away, now wearing her tall hat and a long wine-red robe, looking at him with eyes narrowed. But those who knew her the best could discern that she was touched by the reunion.

"O' course, Perfessor. No worry at all, I'll brin' the li'l ones healthy ter Hogwarts!" he answered in a voice that boomed across the entire station platform, and winked toward the four. "Til later, and Hermione? Congratulations on yer position," he grinned, pointing toward the shimmering badge pinned to her robe. "I knew tha' it woul' be you this year! They couldn't choose a bet'r girl t'an you!"

Hermione blushed. "Thanks, Hagrid," she smiled, pleased by his comments, but the groundskeeper didn't miss the grimaces of the others. "What's the matter?" he asked.

Harry growled: "Guess who they made Head Boy!" Hagrid barely shrugged when Harry continued disgustedly, "Malfoy!"

"Malfoy? They let 'im back inta school?" The half-giant didn't believe his ears, then he shook his head. "Some people always fall on their feet!" He glanced down at the unhappy girl. "A hard thin' fer you, fer sure." He patted Hermione on one shoulder. "Don't fret. If ya can't stand it anymore ter be around him, jus' come to my house ter see me. I'll make us a pot o' good tea and I am a good lis'ner. And if this boy needs Detention, I've several chores fer him ter do that would be wondrous learning opportunities!" He winked again and turned away with a last wave of his hand. "Til later!"

The four friends waved farewell, and watched him calling for the youngest students. Harry recognized the look of alarm that many of them gave Hagrid. They mirrored the way he felt the first time the man had burst through the shack door on that stormy, deserted island, when he first came to take Harry away from the Dursleys and off to school. Hagrid was half giant, true, but as wild and frightening as he looked on the outside, on the inside he was mush, a friendly loyal ally. He was one of their closest friends, one of those who had survived the war, and they all looked forward to see him several times every week.

While the first-years followed Hagrid toward the lake, some with eagerness, many with trepidation, the other students walked to the waiting coaches, the ones that seemed to move on their own power. Only those who had seen death could actually see the invisible Thestrals, horse-like skeletal creatures with wings, that pulled the coaches.

"You do remember that the Head Girl and Head Boy have their own coach?" Harry whispered and Hermione froze.

"_What_?" Her eyes were wide as saucers, then she vehemently shook her head. "No! No way I ride with him! I don't know of a separate vehicle! And you don't, either!"

Ginny watched her heading, head down, toward a coach where several other Gryffindors were waiting, and sighed. "She really can't stand him."

"Well, it's mutual," Potter grimaced, spotting the silver-blond head of the student under discussion from afar, then offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

Blushing prettily, Ginny laid her hand on his elbow and followed him, Ron behind them, Hermione pulled Crookshanks closer. This was going to be a very long year!

Never, not even in her wildest dreams, would she have guessed the changes the next months would bring for her and the others …

TBC…

_I hope, dear readers, you're enjoying the story so far. I know to make the two Head-Boy and -Girl has been done many times, but it's such a nice way to force them to interact and gives room for funny but also very emotional moments. And they will face a time that shows them that there are more important things than childish bullying._

_I would be very, very happy to receive some reaction so please review. The next chapter will be published within the next week. The story is half done, but my very dear friend Cheetah, who beta-reads my stories in principle - and is doing a very great job, after all, English isn't my mother-language - needs a little time to correct my errors. And regarding the length of my chapters, she has a lot to read (laugh)._

_Have a nice time,_

_until in several days,_

_yours Lywhn_


	3. News From All Over at Hogwarts

_Hallo, dear Readers,_ _I am so sorry that it lasted a little bit longer as thought to publish the next_ _chapter, but it's a longer one my very dear friend and beta-reader Cheetah had a lot to do with it, especially her beautiful work with coming up of a poem for the Sorting Hat. I hope you're up to read the next part and will enjoy it._ _Thank you so much for the first reviews and, to say the truth, I am more than curious what you're about to think and say about the next chapter. Please let me know, if you liked it or not._

_I whish you fun,_

_Have a nice weekend,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 2 – News From All Over at Hogwarts**

The Great Hall was bathed in the glow of hundreds of candles soaring overhead, supported by a powerful charm placed over them centuries before, swaying slightly when one of the many Hogwarts ghosts flew through them. The magical roof enchanted to show the sky directly over the castle was presently shimmering, glittering with stars.

The Sorting Hat had been brought out, and all eyes were on the old dilapidated thing. This was the hat worn by the legendary Neville Longbottom in the conclusive Battle of Hogwarts. The Dark Lord himself had set the hat on fire while Neville wore it, but Neville had escaped and killed the final Horcrux with the very sword of Godric Gryffindor himself. But that is another story, told better elsewhere.

From the wooden stool, the Sorting Hat began to speak in a gruff voice heard throughout the hall:

Welcome to all students here,  
The returning and the new,  
You know I'm called the Sorting Hat,  
And I now speak for you.

For Ravenclaw, so wise and good  
For Gryffindor, now famous  
For Slytherin, sophisticated,  
Huffelpuff strong and blameless.

My choices come from many years  
Of looking, listening, seeing,  
I am not perfect, you will find,  
But choosing can be freeing.

This year will prove the hearts of most,  
Strangers soon becoming friends.  
I'm happy to belong with you  
And watch you reach such ends.

Look deep within and find your courage  
Your wisdom, cunning, strength,  
Study hard, embrace such foes  
As broaden width and length.

Evil was defeated here  
But Evil still remains,  
As long as time rolls over us

'Til Righteousness attains.

Darkness lurks where no one sees.  
Danger's 'round the corner.  
Evil in an ancient form  
Inspires this word of warning.

Collect the knowledge that you need,  
But heed your instincts, too.  
Your triune selves are needed now  
So all can make it through.

Step up, my children, find your House.  
In days ahead you'll find  
You're more than just your label here,  
You're spirit, soul and mind.

Creation and destruction lie  
Within the motto's swagging:  
Look to the crest then recall – Never  
Tickle that Sleeping Dragon.

One by one, the first years were called up, sat on the wooden stool, and the Hat placed on their heads, and one by one, the Hat considered, and called out, "Hufflepuff!" "Ravenclaw!" "Slytherin!" and "Gryffindor!" Each new student was welcomed to their House table with cheers and slaps on the back, an excellent beginning in a strange new place.

The four house tables were nearly filled with students. The sorting of the first years was almost completed and the rest of the students were amazed to find the Sorting Hat performing its duties so well. Voldemort had set it on fire, and many of them had watched it burn, but somehow the old ratty thing wasn't so easy to destroy. Yes, it looked somewhat the worse for wear, and every passing breeze stirred up a thin zephyr of grey dust, but its voice was still strong. It sorted the new students into their houses without a hitch.

Still, there was one chair at the teachers' table that remained empty: the one reserved for the Professor for Defence against the Dark Arts – DADA. Throughout Harry's career at Hogwarts, and for many years prior, the DADA professor was new every year, a result of the lingering ... disagreement ... with a young Tom Riddle. Sometimes they were late, as Harry, Ron, Hermione and the others remembered well. All former teachers had had to be replaced for a variety of reasons, and so history repeated itself again this year. There were numerous speculations circulating among the students as to just _who or what_ might teach them this year. Harry himself had taken a brief stint, teaching DADA to the secret and exclusive group calling themselves Dumbledore's Army, when the teacher assigned by the Ministry that year proved hopelessly incompetent. And worse. But that, too, is another story.

Finally the last first year student was sorted, and assigned to Hufflepuff – a young, small, very sad looking boy, named Philip Lally. Professor McGonagall rose and moved behind the podium carved in the form of a golden eagle owl, while Professor Trelawany carefully removed the stool and the Sorting Hat, setting them aside with a minimum of jangling of her many baubles. Instantly silence spread over the Great Hall, reflecting the air of expectation. It was the first speech by the new headmistress and all were curious.

"Dear students, welcome to your first year and welcome back to a new year at Hogwarts." Her voice sounded throughout the hall, reaching every corner, inspiring even the ghosts to remain still in the air. "I think it unnecessary to mention the events in which our school was involved, particularly the last school year. Those who were here know too well what happened and, as Madame Pomfrey will certainly agree, we will refrain from opening those partially closed wounds. And those who were not here should be spared of the details of the horrific battle that shook not only the walls of Hogwarts, but even its principles. Never before in the history of this institution have these walls witnessed such cruelty and villainy toward its students, and may Merlin and all of the higher beings you have come to believe in prevent such a travesty from over occurring again. No young person will ever need fear for their lives or well-being ever again within these walls, and never – never! – again will children be forced to fight for their lives and for our world!"

Every pupil rapped approvingly on the table in front of them, while the ghosts murmured soberly to themselves, and even the teachers lowered their gaze.

Minerva waited for a moment for silence before beginning again: "So let us all lay aside the discord, distrust, resentment, and prejudice that Tom Riddle – better known as Lord Voldemort – used to contaminate our world. Let those who fell honourably rest in peace, and let us heal our wounds together. Even after the darkest and longest of nights, the sun always rises. We are ready to make peace again. We will need young, creative, and well-educated men and women to rebuild our world, and to keep it safe. And to reach this end, we MUST work together.

"Of course, we are still organized as four houses, and this will remain so as long as Hogwarts stands, because tradition is an important foundation of our culture. And therefore I want to remind all of you that no house is better or worse than any of the others. I've seen many distrustful and even hostile looks toward your fellow-students of Slytherin, and this I will not tolerate! Many members of Slytherin fought beside us, risking their lives to save others. Those who chose the dark side and served Voldemort to the bitter end are no longer among us. Those who turned and fought against him are welcomed back to us. There is no difference between a Slytherin or a Gryffindor, between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, even if your rivalries are traditional." Her expression softened, even as several students glared at each other across tables. There were many who grinned, exchanging nods and glances with the others. After the catastrophic battle, they all had sat together, houses intermingled and temporarily ignored, and Minerva hoped that this would last.

"Concerning our goal of bringing increased unity among our houses, the Ministry of Magic and I have come to a decision. To encourage you all in the direction of unity, Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, please rise from your seats."

Anxious whispers swept the Great Hall as the two obeyed; facing the Headmistress. She gave two sharp raps on the podium with the gavel to restore silence. "Ladies and gentlemen, please greet the Head-Girl and Head-Boy for this year!"

Instantly thunderous applause echoed through the hall, accompanied by several cries of "Well done!" and "Huzzah!" Hermione blushed and a pale pink spread over Draco's icy features. Ginny and Ron beamed, and Harry chuckled inwardly. _How clever of McGonagall not to introduce them one after another, but to name them together!_ Harry was certain that there would have been few who applauded Malfoy, and somehow he wouldn't wish that embarrassing situation on anyone, even his old enemy.

Hagrid clapped his pot-lid sized hands enthusiastically and even called "Bravo!" before he caught stern looks from several professors. He looked around quickly, cleared his throat and settled down a little bit.

Minerva waited until the most of the applause began to subside and continued: "I must address another important matter in close connection with their duties. Until further notice, there are several new prohibitions: No student is to approach the Forbidden Forest any nearer than two hundred metres, and especially not between dusk and dawn. Some of the followers of You-Know – ah, of Voldemort or those his followers cursed are still abroad. The centaurs who live there made a truce with Prime-Minister Shacklebolt. They have captured most of our enemies, but still they cannot guarantee that all have been found. You are only allowed near the Forbidden Forest in the company of a teacher!"

She cleared her throat. "Second: The wing wherein lies the Room of Requirement is still forbidden to students. The outer wall was brought down by a particularly destructive curse and the giant spiders, has been rebuilt, but still the foundation of the wing and the reconstruction of this area has not yet been approved by the Ministry's inspectors. So, please, no foolish tests of bravery, or setting dares to those more naive than yourself."

Murmurs swept the hall. Professor noted some shudders and the – few – looks of determination and budding rebellion.

"And last but not least, anything purchased from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is strictly prohibited on school property." A few vocal protests along with some groans were heard from every table. With some difficulty, Professor McGonagall kept a straight face, adding, "Chocolate which temporarily transforms one's classmate into a dolt, toffees that swell one's tongue to the size of an Amazon python, and other similar products are inappropriate entertainment in any school, especially Hogwarts!" she declared, catching Harry exchanging a rueful smile with Ron. (Of course she couldn't know that Fred and George, Ron's very inventive older twin brothers, used Harry's Muggle cousin Dudley as a test subject for the Ton-Tongue Toffee. But their brief interaction put her on alert, recognizing a minor conspiracy when she saw it.) "Instead of attempting to name all of the offending items, the entire inventory is on the prohibited list. If you have any questions regarding the school's rules or the up-coming Halloween and Christmas Ball, please contact Miss Granger or Mr. Malfoy. The Prefects themselves are responsible for the latter," she finished, nodding to Hermione and Draco to retake their seats.

She smiled. "Now, for the good news: below the courtyard, the Black Lake has been made safe for swimming. A new fence has been placed around this end of the lake to separate it from the rest. I warn everyone NOT to cross it. Beyond the new frame, the dangers of the lake are still present, but inside you will be safe. I requested this boon from the Merpeople two weeks ago, and they are willing to share this portion of their home with you. The summer has been, and still is, unusually warm, and I think a dip in a cool lake would be welcome by nearly all of us." Glad murmurs filled the hall, and there was a smattering of applause and smiles toward the headmistress.

"Before we eat ..."

"Finally!" one Hufflepuff student muttered into the silence, and the word echoed throughout the great room. The whole hall burst into laughter – and even the teachers had to chuckle. Stomachs had begun to growl.

Minerva even smiled and shook her head. Again waiting for the silence, eyes sparkling through her spectacles, "There is one more matter I must cover with all of you. After You-Know - after Voldemort's attempted invasion and usurpation of several nations on ours and other continents, the different Ministries of Magic around the world agreed to a new programme that will benefit the International Cooperation of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The position of teacher for Defence against the Dark Arts is again vacant, and now for a special reason. Our new colleague has only been informed of the professorship at Hogwarts yesterday, and he be arriving shortly, as he is coming some distance."

The silence was palpable by now, all eyes on the headmistress.

"Professor Akay Abdelghani comes to us from Egypt, more specifically, from Ashmounein School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the middle east, and he is not coming alone. Four of their best students in their final year at Ashmounein will accompany him and be housed with you for the rest of this school year." More whispering, and Minerva was forced to raise her voice once more. "So, as you can see, we will fly the flag of acceptance and understanding once again."

The furore was growing, and the headmistress lifted her wand toward her throat to create a magnification. "Silence!" she bellowed and once more, the students faced front. She lifted both brows. "You will learn more of Ashmounein in the next two days, of its houses and its Egyptian traditions so that you can welcome our guests properly. Hospitality is sacred in the oriental countries, and I expect that you all will be the perfect hosts towards our guests, who come from one of the oldest schools of Witchcraft and Wizardry of the world. No one shall have an excuse to call us impolitic or-" some pointed looks about the room "- barbaric. Are there any questions?"

Draco groaned as Hermione's hand promptly flew up. _Couldn't she skip the teacher-pet-behaviour for even ONE evening?_ Graham Pritchard, a new fifth-year Slytherin Prefect, bent toward him, his blue eyes mocking, tilting his dark head. "Some things never change," he whispered and Malfoy nodded, glancing at him. Graham winked and Draco could also see several faces smiling at him, others ignoring him. His status within Slytherin was leader, nevertheless several of his house had avoided him, or sent him distrusting looks during their journey. Either they distrusted him for having sided with Voldemort before the trial confirmed that he switched sides in the very last moment, or they were angry with him for switching sides in the end. In any case, Draco sensed the cool feelings, and he was glad that he wouldn't have to share the Slytherin dungeons with the others this year.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

Hermione had risen to address the Headmistress. "Professor, this is certainly exciting news, and we are all are looking forward to welcoming our new visiting students, but -could you tell us, who is the new Head of Gryffindor?"

A corner of the professor's mouth twitched upward. _Trust Hermione Granger to discern the only open question left._ "Usually the headmistress or headmaster does not teach because of their many other duties. But, considering that we were at war until four months ago, and many highly qualified witches and wizards were removed from the pool of available talent, the Ministry decided to go back to the an earlier tradition of our school. The founders of Hogwarts themselves taught their first students and were the Heads of their houses, so I am announcing that Gryffindor House will have to endure me as the Head, and you all as the Professor for Transfiguration for at least one more year-"

Loud cheering erupted from the Gryffindor table as the students stood applauding and congratulated themselves and waved tall hats at Professor McGonagall.

"You will certainly be given no special advantage because I am also the headmistress!" Minerva called, but her voice was drowned out by the celebration all up and down the table. She gave up and sighed, and waved her hand. "Enjoy your dinner!" she shouted. Immediately, the tables filled with loaded dishes of every description, and the noise was reduced immediately as the students lunged for the delicious banquet, still talking excitedly.

McGonagall regained her dignity and returned to her seat. "You know, Minerva, advantage isn't the reason the Gryffindor-students are nearly beside themselves," Pomfrey said and the headmistress sighed.

"I know, Poppy, I know. I like them, too."

"They _love_ yeh, Professor," Hagrid corrected her by bending over his chair arm to face her, and almost swept the tiny Flitwick out of his seat.

Other teachers nodded in confirmation, and the old witch bent her eyes on all four tables of hungry, laughing students, many of them smiling up at her. "I believe you're right, Hagrid," she finally murmured.

The fire was burning low in the open fireplace, sending sparks up the chimney. The soft golden light filled the room located high in the large castle. (To Muggle eyes, the structure appeared as a ruinous wreck, decorated with a huge dilapidated warning sign, promising a variety of painful and deadly accidents to any trespassers. Not that there would be any. A select assemblage of repulsion hexes kept just about everyone not associated with their community at a healthy distance.)

Tapestries of burgundy and gold, others in green and silver covered most of the stone block walls. Portraits of many unique individuals decorated them, too, and a heavy chandelier hung from a long thick chain. A long clawfoot low table dominated the centre of the room, with two comfortable sofas – one in gold, one in silver. Thick deep carpets gave the place an air of luxury. The rest of the furniture matched these items, giving the room the feeling of a suitable home for royalty. Heavy velvet curtains, also woven in gold and silver, were drawn closed at the three ceiling-to-floor windows and gave an atmosphere of expansive snugness, while the tepid evening-air waved through them. Hermione looked wide-eyed about her, not noticing that her counterpart was just as impressed, amazed at the advantages provided to the Head- Girl and -Boy.

McGonagall, who had escorted the two students to their new dormitory, exchanged a brief glance with Professor Slughorn, the Head of Slytherin, who also had accompanied them. "Your own room, Miss Granger, is up that staircase and then right," she said, pointing toward the wide doorway. "The portrait of Lady Hillary guards it and you can choose your own password before you enter you room the first time. The bathroom is between your and Mr. Malfoy's rooms, and I trust you both will make arrangements to cooperate in its use."

"Mr. Malfoy, your room is to the left," Slughorn added and nodded toward another staircase. "Sir Mael will serve as your guardian and you are also free to choose your password."

Draco nodded politely. It was no secret that he and Professor Slughorn weren't on the best of terms, but Malfoy was too clever to show any disrespect against the Head of his house. This was his very last chance here and he was determined to use it.

"Your duties will begin tomorrow," Minerva went on. "As soon as you've posted a patrol-schedule for the Prefects of the fifth, sixth and seventh years, you are required to patrol only twice a week together with the others. You are also allowed in the hallways of the school at night if it is necessary. Further, you are privileged to go to Hogsmeade whenever your duties and studies allow, but please be certain that one or two of the Prefects are informed of your absence, and willing to serve in your place until you return."

Hermione smiled to herself. She loved the little wizarding village northwest of Hogwarts and there were several shops she wanted to see again soon.

"If you have any questions about your duties and privileges, please contact Professor McGonagall or me," Slughorn said with a hint of a smile on his crinkled pudgy face, straightening his ample tweed jacket. "The Headmistress and I will say goodnight."

"Thank you, Professor," Granger answered, while Malfoy bowed his head politely.

The two teachers headed for the oaken door guarded by the portrait of a knight in courtly attire. As they reached the exit, McGonagall turned again. "One final request. The next time your coach is available, please use it. I was disappointed to learn that the Head Coach came back empty and you both were riding with your classmates."

Hermione blushed, feigning an innocence she did not feel. "Head Coach?" she asked and a quick glance at Malfoy showed him acting as clueless as she. So, he didn't use the coach, either, but went with his friends – the same as she? How odd! They _never_ did anything the same way before, did they?

The Headmistress looked at her sternly. "And you didn't know?" Minerva asked, her voice betraying her suspicion.

"N-n-no…" the girl stuttered and to her utter surprise, Draco added, "I didn't know it either, Professor."

The headmistress blinked, eyebrows headed north. "Do you mean to say that for all these years you didn't know that the Head-Girl and -Boy have their own coach?"

"Of course I knew, Professor, but my father told me that he thought it was destroyed during the Battle of Hogwarts, along with several other coaches." Malfoy's features held firm and he looked directly into McGonagall's eyes.

"And your father knew this _how_?" she demanded.

"He was Head-Boy at Hogwarts, too, as I am sure you know. He saw it in flames during the battle, while he and my mother searched for me. And since I didn't notice it at the station, I thought it was destroyed, and I should ride with my friends."

Holding his gaze only a moment longer, Minerva finally turned toward Hermione. "And you, Miss Granger? Had someone told you, as well, that this coach was destroyed?"

"N-no, Professor. But I didn't know about it, and when I saw Mal - Draco going towards the Slytherin group, I stayed with my friends for the ride here." Hermione knew that she wasn't a very good liar, and she _hated_ lying to Professor McGonagall, but her statement was close to the truth. She really hadn't seen their coach (not having looked for it) and she had seen Malfoy vanish in the crowd.

McGonagall sighed inwardly. She didn't buy their stories for a second, but seeing that them both suddenly singing the same tune convinced her to let it go. After all, this was a very small step for them in the right direction.

"Well, now you know," she said abruptly. "And when our guests arrive, and you take them on their first trip to Hogsmeade, I insist that you use your coach - together! Do I make myself clear?"

"Of course, Professor."

"Yes, Madame!"

Minerva heard Horace chuckle. They bid the two students good-night and left, an amused Slughorn following the tall woman. The heavy door closed with a very final and resounding _thunk_, and Granger and Malfoy were alone. An awkward silence stretched between them as they each avoided looking at the other, until Draco cleared his throat, and walked wordlessly toward the stairs which led to his room.

Hermione bit her lower lip, then blurted, "That was a good story you came up with."

Malfoy turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "It wasn't a story. My father really saw the Head Coach burst into flames."

The girl nodded. "Still… you kept us out of trouble."

Crossing his long arms, Draco cocked his head, looking at her thoughtfully. "So, the teacher's pet has a rebellious streak," he smirked.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione turned toward her own staircase. "I'd rather risk a lecture by McGonagall than to make an enemy of her."

"Giving up already? I've hardly begun-"

He stopped as Hermione deliberately turned. "You do not have what it takes to get the better of me, Malfoy."

He stared back, his smirk widening into a lazy grin. "I'll take that dare, Granger. We'll see who comes out ahead in the end." With that, he disappeared up the stairs, and, rolling her eyes (for what it seemed like the hundredth time that day) Hermione did the same.

"I'll hold you to that!" she called over her shoulder, reaching the solid oak door, covered with a life-sized portrait of a young blond witch, clad in garb of the Middle Ages, wearing a soft smile on her rosy lips.

"What password do you choose, my dear?" she asked warmly.

Hermione paused a moment, then answered: "Courage and loyalty."

Lady Hillary winked a blue eye at her. "Very good – and so typical of a Gryffindor. Here you go, my dear. Have a beautiful stay." With those words the portrait/door swung open, revealing the room that was Hermione's own for the next school year. A quiet "Wow!" escaped her as she moved past the doorway. Her trunk was by the bed and Crookshanks, who had curled himself into an orange ball on the spread, raised his head to look at her, then rose gracefully and met her. Granger's eyes were wide as saucers.

The room was enormous. It was almost the size of the Gryffindor-common-room, decorated in the red and gold of her house. An elegant four-poster-bed, its posts beautifully carved into slender shapely naiads, was covered with very inviting blankets, cushions and fine white laced linen, turned back for her. The wardrobe was at least three centuries old, a desk of the same period and a small sitting-area completed the appointments, all polished to a remarkable patina. High windows with leaded glass and a cosy fire in an open fireplace completed the picture. The girl bent down and picked up her pet. "What do you think, Crookshanks? Does this make up for having to live with the ferret?"

The ginger animal glanced up to its mistress with its wide, intelligent eyes and rubbed its head on her chin. "Yeah, me too, or at least it helps. So if he gets to be too much to tolerate, I can always retreat into this little corner of paradise, or even flee to the Gryffindor common room," she smiled, kissed Crookshanks on the head. He rewarded her with a loud purr, and jumped back on the bed. "But don't tell Mom that I let you sleep in my bed!" she grinned at the tomcat, who yawned.

She knew the door to the left had to led to bathroom. Wondering what surprises were beyond the door, she opened it, and another gasp was torn from her lips. She had seen the Prefects' bathroom. She knew most of the Hogwarts castle was more elegant than any Muggle royal palace, but she never suspected that the school would house a landscaped swimming area like this!

A pool, surrounded by a lip of white marble, filled the centre of the room, a small waterfall poured from the ankle-deep pool beyond of the ladder descending into the pool. It was lined with dark blue and gold tile, the golden taps shaped like gracefully curved swan necks, and a large shower-area against the opposite wall. Silver curtains separated the two washbasins, allowing a modicum of privacy, and several cupboards offered space for personal items. The walls were sand-coloured, the ceiling the same dark-blue as the pool, glittering with hundreds of jewels, like stars. The stained-glass window was a picture of dancing dolphins, and when Hermione blinked, one of them opened its snout to grin at her, and she heard the soft clicking of its unique language. Entranced Granger stepped nearer. She loved those animals. As she stretched her hand toward the glass, they leaped playfully out and back into the waves, squeaking and cackling. Hermione laughed aloud, overwhelmed by the luxury Hogwarts offered its students. When she turned, she nearly jumped out of her skin at the sight of the tall figure leaning against the doorway leading to the Head-Boy's dorm.

Draco just grimaced. _Girls and dolphins! Heck, even Pansy had gone all mushy whenever those animals had been mentioned, and she was not known for higher sensibility_. "Are you quite finished?" he asked shortly.

Hermione lifted one delicate brow. "I haven't even begun to unpack my-"

"Then don't until I'm finished. It's late and I want a bath."

Hermione gaped at him – the nerve! – before she crossed her arms. "When I am finished setting out my things, you can-"

"You're just going to have to wait to store all your malodorous Muggle things in your cupboard. I'm taking a bath right now," he growled, headed toward the pool and bent forward to choose a bath-gel and to open the spigots.

"Ever heard of 'ladies first'?" the Head Girl gritted her teeth.

A cold look. "Of course, but I see no lady here."

"What a coincidence. I see no gentleman either," Hermione snapped.

A half-sneer took its normal place. "Then you won't be surprised when I don't act like one." He shrugged off his black sweater and fingered the green and silver tie, his eyes never leaving hers. "Staying for the show?"

"Ew, Malfoy, if I want to see a man undress, I'll go to show by the Chippendales! I won't wait around to see a _boy_ undress."

There was a momentary frown, then the haughty smile was back. "And how would you know the difference, Granger? I'm certain you never had an eyeful of the weasel – if you can call him a man. And you are too much of a prude to visit male strippers," he said sarcastically, revealing surprising knowledge of Muggles, considered less than human by most of his family. He tossed the tie onto the elaborate valet, and began to unbutton his shirt, revealing a broad muscled chest and flat stomach. "And now excuse me! I have no desire to be the one who shows you what a real man looks like."

His arrogance was getting the better of her. Hermione's hand had crept toward her wand in her back pocket, and drew it as Malfoy bent down to undo his shoelaces. Concentrating on a nonverbal spell – the kind she'd nearly perfected her sixth year – she pointed her wand toward the pool, turning on her heel and leaving the moment the jinx hit the water filling the enormous tub. It shot out like a fountain and drenched Draco. He yelped, leaping aside, but not before he was drenched from head to toe. Brushing the water out of his eyes, he cursed loudly.

"Don't forget: shower first, then a swim!" Hermione called sweetly, quickly putting some distance between herself and the furious Head-Boy. Draco rounded the pool and strode dripping toward her, his wet face grim and reddened. "Have a nice bath!" she called, hastily closing the door to her room behind her and sealing it with a charm.

"I'll get you for that, Granger!" she heard him shouting through the door, and chuckled to herself. This living arrangement did present some unique ... possibilities for payback, after seven years of insults, bullying and bad behaviour. Crookshanks looked up sleepily, and Hermione pursed her lips, still seeing the half dressed Draco Malfoy, the white cotton of his open wet shirt clinging to him. Well, maybe he didn't need to hide behind the Chippendales, but she was glad to find out she could needle him by teasing him about his appearance. One more tool for the kit ...

Early the next morning, the chaos had already begun. Hermione had crept quietly into the bathroom two hours after she'd heard Malfoy leave, had set up her toiletries, and quickly washed. She didn't trust the dark quietude of the room, knowing that Malfoy would be planning revenge for the involuntary shower. But nothing had happened during the night.

In sharp contrast to the next morning.

After a short sleep full of nightmarish images from the War, Hermione had gotten up to use the bathroom while Draco slept, sealed both doors properly, and stepped into the shower – only find it ice-cold. Somehow Malfoy had hexed the water supply, and both golden spigots would only produce water near the freezing point. She hadn't quite contained the screech as she leapt from the shower.

Even now, as she entered the Great Hall to have breakfast, she still shivered off and on. She was glad to meet Harry, Ron and Ginny (who now was in the same year as her brother and Harry), waved to Luna Lovegood of Ravenclaw, who waved back with one of her usual dreamily distracted looks, and Hermione took her seat beside Ron. After everyone was properly "good-morning-ed" she snatched up a cup of hot tea and sipped it gratefully, willing the chill out of her body. Of course they noticed that she was cold, but, too proud to admit that Malfoy had successful played a trick on her, she just told them that she took a cold shower to chase away her fatigue.

Harry and Ron exchanged looks, then shrugged. "If you say so," Harry sighed, and reached for his pumpkin juice as the owls flew through the open windows with the morning-post. One barn owl glided low over the Gryffindor-table, making a first year jump, and dropped a heap of papers in front of Hermione. Calling a "Thanks!" toward the bird, Granger opened her post and took a closer look at the newest edition of the _Daily Prophet_, "the most respectable newspaper of the wizardry world," the byline boasted. Biting into her roll slathered with honey, she almost choked on first bite.

"Can you believe it? They still don't have him!"

"Don't have who?" Ron's reply was unintelligible, as it had to make its way around a mouthful of bread and cheese.

Hermione shot him an irritated glance (she hated it when he forgot the simplest of table manners) and looked down on the newspaper. A moving photo of a man of middle age was prominently displayed on the front page, steel-blue eyes small slits of fury, nostrils flaring and twitching like those of a mad dog. But what caught your attention was the fur along his forehead, cheeks and jaw, down his strong neck. And there was, every month, a night when that thick hair would become bristly and long, and the snarl on his ugly face would become the baring of deadly fangs.

"Fenrir Greyback," Hermione answered everyone's question. "He's still at large. They lost his trail again." She grimaced and laid the newspaper beside her plate.

"I can't understand how he was able to escape," Ginny sighed. "Hagrid told me that he knocked him out, and when Hagrid hits someone, he usually _stays_ hit."

"Werewolves are sturdier and stronger than humans," Harry interrupted. "They keep coming when a normal man would be long dead. And Greyback has a lot of experience. Maybe he was unconscious for a moment, but certainly he woke up before the battle was over, saw Voldemort fall and did the only thing he could. He fled – with some of the other Death-Eaters." He reached for the honey-pot. "But they'll catch him!" He plopped some of the sweet gold on his bread. "I hope they find Dolohov first!" Something like hate was dancing in his eyes, and Ginny reached over the table to touch his hand.

"We understand, Harry. Lupin was one of your father's closest friends. We all mourn his loss, him and Tonks as well, but you have to let it go." Her voice was gentle, her eyes revealing the love she felt for him – had always felt! "There are others who are responsible for bringing the last of the Death-Eaters still at large to trial."

"Yeah, I know," Harry sighed softly. "But … Remus was like Sirius … he was family."

Seeing his head bowed, she touched his hand under the table, and he took it briefly. "He still lives in his son," Ginny said quietly. "You'll see, as soon as we finish school, and you are trained to be an Auror, you can fulfil the promise you gave him and Tonks, and we can raise Ted together – like our own son."

The green eyes behind the spectacles widened. Ted, his god-son, was now living with the Weasleys until Harry could offer the child a home, but he hadn't talked with Ginny about that. Even though he hadn't proposed to her, there was no doubt that he wanted her to be his wife as soon as he was earning enough money to support a family, but Ted was to be a member of this family, and bringing in a strange child was not an easy thing. But now, as Ginny spoke about it as if it already happened, warmth and gratitude woke in him. She had known that he would keep his promise toward his god-son without any grudge. There was really no question why he had fallen for this girl so completely.

"Thank you," he whispered and returned the gentle pressure of her hand with his own.

Ron cleared his throat. "Ahh, a little too much familiarity for breakfast!" he grumbled and blinked in surprise as Hermione grimaced at him. She returned her attention to the _Daily Prophet_, reading the rest of the headlines, until Harry tapped her on the shoulder. "Time to go," he informed her and instantly she rolled the newspaper up and jammed it into her bag, which she lifted with quite an effort.

Ginny's eyes widened. "How many books do you carry with you?"

Hermione sighed. "Too many."

"Too many books? _Y__ou_?" Ron wiggled a pinky in his ear. "Did I hear you right?"

Scowling at him, Hermione threw the bag over her shoulder, groaned for a moment, and headed then toward the three-story double-door of the Great Hall. "Off to Potions!" she exclaimed, then stopped and sighed deeply, "which we have, as always, with Slytherin. How fortunate are we!"

As they reached the oval underground classroom near the dungeons, Hermione met with the bane of her existence for the first time that day. The seventh year students from Gryffindor and Slytherin were scheduled for Potions together, and Hermione forced a careless smile on her face when she saw the certain blond young man. His grey eyes swept over her, and as she passed him to enter the classroom, he spoke up, knowing that three of his house-mates as well as Harry Potter and Ron and Ginny Weasley were listening. "You seem well rested, Granger. Sleep well?"

Determined to maintain her dignity, she glanced up. "Why, very well, thank you, Malfoy. And you?"

He lifted one brow. "So," he drawled, ignoring her question, "no difficulties?"

"No, should there be?" Her expression betrayed absolutely nothing, feeling her friends' eyes bouncing between her and the Slytherin.

"I thought I heard a high-pitched squeal this morning, something useful for calling dogs."

Ron was remembering Hermione shivering as she sat down to breakfast, and moved beside her, rising to his full height. "What did you do, Malfoy?" he hissed.

Draco answered in a low voice, "Nothing she didn't deserve."

Before any of her friends could comment, Hermione spoke up, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Malfoy. Perhaps you heard Crookshanks. He is very energetic in the morning. As far as being rested, everyone knows I enjoy a cold shower in the morning to wake up. I understand they're very good for you. Maybe you should try them. It would surely add some colour to that face." Tossing her hair over her shoulders, she sauntered into the classroom, certain that, if looks could kill, she would fall down dead. She could feel his heated gaze at her back like an open flame.

"I don't know what you're playing at, Malfoy, but you stay away from her!" Harry said softly, his face hard.

"Aren't you going with the Weaslette, Potter? How many girlfriends do you need?" Draco shot back, giving Ginny a cold glance. He hadn't forgiven her the Bad Bogey Hex she had hurled at him over two years ago in Umbridge's office. His face had hurt for days!

Ginny opened her mouth to retort, but Harry was quicker. "Don't fret, Malfoy. No one is going to challenge your unquestioned position as number one rake and trifler around here. And concerning Hermione: She is like a _sister_ to me. And as you yourself seem so very loyal to your _family_, perhaps you understand what I'm talking about!" He turned toward the classroom, offered Ginny his arm and pulled a wary Ron with him, following Hermione into the classroom.

Draco pursed his lips. He would bet his eye teeth that his payback had gotten Granger properly, but that she was too proud to admit it. He knew that it had been her screech that woke him up this morning, and inwardly he congratulated himself. Then his glance fell on Potter and Weasley, and he gritted his teeth. _Rake! Trifler! How dare that arrogant Gryffindor call him that? Wasn't the Scar-head supposed to be the saint of the school? How did he get away with insults like this?_

"Mr. Malfoy, did you forget something, or does the smell in here keep you standing outside?"

Slughorn's voice brought Draco back to the present, and he turned. The Head of his house stood behind him, wearing his tweed, a velvet waistcoat covering his enormous belly. "Sorry, Professor, I just…" He took a deep breath, and the lie came easily to his lips. "I was just remembering the last time I stepped into this room …"

The Potions-professor clapped his shoulder, a kindly smile on his face. "I know, Draco. We all have memories which haunt us. Come along, my boy, I think I need your help for the first lesson. After all, you're one of the best students at Hogwarts, and your skills can only have increased."

Draco knew that the older man wanted to encourage understanding and cooperation between the two houses, and a small part of him was grateful for it. But as he held the door for Slughorn and met Potter's glare, he set his jaw. He would show them all that he was still a Malfoy – and no-one messed with a member of his family!

TBC…

Well, the first things are settled, but there is a lot more to come. In the next chapter our two Head-students will endure their first adventure, and it is a dangerous and almost deadly one, what will change their fates more and more. You will also learn more about the Egyptian school and its ways, what will soon begin to shake the wizardry world in northern Europe.

_I hope you had fun, please, please review and have patience until the next chapter will be published. Cheetah is working on it._

_Love you all,_

_Lywhn_


	4. It Happened One Night

_Hallo, my dear readers,_

_here comes the next update and with the promised action, our two Head Students have to go through. There is also some fun, and I hope you're going to enjoy it._

_Thank you so much for the reviews, and you would make me really, really happy, if you would leave some more of them._

_Have fun,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 3 – It Happened One Night ...**

During Potions, Harry rediscovered his lack of any giftedness for the subject. The last time he had taken Potions with Professor Slughorn, he had leaned heavily on a used copy of the book which had been heavily edited by its former user, a student who called himself the Half-Blood Prince. This, they later discovered, turned out to be the very gifted Professor Snape, who had taught Potions for years. Harry was forced to hide the book in the Room of Requirement, and that, of course, was destroyed in an epic conflagration during the war. So he was now back to reading directions and muddling through on his own.

Their next class was History of Magic, when Gryffindors and Slytherins went their separate ways, but Professor McGonagall was waiting in the corridor as the students left Potions, and directed them all to a larger room on the first floor. There they met with the seventh year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, as well as Professor Cuthbert Binns. McGonagall greeted them with a 'good morning' as soon as they were in their seats, and came straight to the point.

"As I informed you yesterday, this year Hogwarts will welcome four visiting students from the Egyptian School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Before our visitors arrive, I will take this time to brief you regarding Ashmounein." She waved her wand and an old fashioned blackboard flipped open, revealing a device shaped similar to a coat of arms, but the image inside was the oblong form of an Egyptian cartouche, like the pharaohs wore with their personal name in it. The form had the head of a bird with a long pointed beak, while inside it were four pictures in a vertical row. Along the rope like edge were stylized bird wings, giving the emblem a touch of mystery.

"This is the device of Ashmounein. Does anyone know the root of the name or some of the symbols?" To the amazement of most Slytherin seventh years – and many Gryffindors - Ron's hand shot up. "Yes, Mr. Weasley?" If the Professor was surprised, she didn't show it.

Ron voice had the ring of authority. "The bird is an ibis, the symbol of the ancient Egyptian god Toth, the god of science, magic and knowledge. Legends say that he was the first to use hieroglyphs and gave them to the world. Most of the time, he is shown as a sitting, ibis-headed man with a slate pencil and writing tablet in his hands. He is also the god of the moon, having helped develop the first calendar, because the ancient Egyptians measured the days and months by the phases of the moon."

A stunned silence followed this recitation, until Malfoy said in amazement, "Are you channelling Granger, Weasel, or did you swallow an encyclopaedia?"

The whole room broke into laughter, even the Gryffindors, since that was what everyone was thinking, and apparently free of any mockery. Hermione turned to look at Draco, and she too had to giggle when she saw him. Draco was still staring bewildered at Ron, who gave him a wide grin.

"Travelling does educate, Malfoy. You should try it after school. Perhaps you'd learn something besides how to be annoying!"

"You travelled to _Egypt_? However did your family pay for it? The poor box? Credit at Gringotts?"

"No, winning a grand prize and saving money, but then, you don't know what it means to save money…"

"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Malfoy, that's quite enough!" McGonagall stated firmly, as the snickers died down and smiles hid behind hands. "You've been to Egypt, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron shifted his attention back to the headmistress, "Yes ma'am."

Ginny added, "We made the trip six years ago. We also wanted to visit Ashmounein, but it was closed during the summer. Our dragoman – our tour guide – gave us a lot of information about the ancient Egyptian gods. He said four of them were combined to become the school of Ashmounein, united under the God of Knowledge."

The seventh years were all listening now, as Ginny was well liked by mostly everyone in the class. The two professors exchanged a quick glance before McGonagall nodded. "Very good, Miss Weasley. And why is the school named Ashmounein?"

"It's placed near the town Hermopolis that was named in ancient times _Ashmounein_, and was the main location for the cult of Toth. The first female pharaoh with real power, Hatschepsut, built an enormous temple dedicated to him, but when the Romans came, they redesigned it to their own purposes. Today, only ruins remain outside of Hermopolis, on the verge of collapse – at least that's what Muggles can see. It's forbidden for Muggles to approach because of the danger. In truth, it contains the school, and the whole back area was re-built by the founders of the school approximately 1800 years ago."

McGonagall smiled, very pleased by her answer. "Very good. Twenty points for Gryffindor!" she exclaimed, which earned Ginny some broad smiles (and some careful scowls from the Slytherins). The professor turned toward the blackboard and waved her wand. Instantly sticks of chalk in different colours rose from the tray and moved on their own over the surface, scratching out pictures. "As Miss Weasley told us, there were four founders of Ashmounein – exactly like Hogwarts. And I am certain you will discover more parallels between our two schools. For example, the houses."

She pointed with her wand at the first newly drawn house emblem. It showed two cat heads, one in black and one in red, both on a yellow background and with a disk between the heads. "This is the device of the House Obest, the two cats symbolize the two sides of the goddess Bastet." Hermione smiled to herself. Loving cats, she had, of course, studied the old legends and had a smattering of information about this ancient goddess. "She stands for joy, dance, friendship, loyalty and love," Minerva continued, pointing at the black cat head, then moving toward the red one. "The second symbolizes her sister Sekhmet, who represents the darker, more savage aspects, including battle readiness, fury, the hunt, courage and so forth. In earlier times both were one, but that changed over the centuries. The disk you're seeing is on every emblem of Ashmounein, too, and stands for the sun – or for Ra, the chief among the old Egyptian gods. The founder of Obest was Daria of Lunit. Lunit was an ancient town where Bastet was worshiped."

Harry and Ron looked toward each other knowingly. Whichever student came from this house was going to be in Gryffindor!

"The next house is called Uraeus." She pointed toward the second emblem, a green cobra in front of a sun disk on a silver background, ready to strike, with a small flame coming out of its snout. The headmistress heard the low whispers and cleared her throat. "I agree that it looks like the symbol of Slytherin, but you'll discover that it's the other way around. In Egyptian mythology, nothing is one sided or simple. Uraeus is also called 'the eye of Horus' and was the protector of the royals. The diadems of the pharaohs all display this cobra, because its fire can drive off any enemy. It was also the symbol of the goddess Wadjet, a snake goddess whose place was the skies. She also gave the 'food of life'. Also the cobra was a symbol for wisdom. Marik was the founder of this house. He came from Per Uadjet, a town today known as Buto."

Draco pursed his lips thoughtfully. He was sure that the student from the house of Uraeus would come to the Slytherins. After all, this similarity was too obvious to dispute. And protector of royalty, as well! Most purebloods were Slytherins, and they belonged to the oldest and most influential families.

He listened to the information about the last two houses, Inpu and Sebak. Inpu's emblem showed a prone black jackal with the sun disk between his pointed ears on a light green background, symbolizing Anubis, the God of Death, who judged the souls of the dead and decided if they deserved an afterlife, or would be devoured by a demon. The founder Armin had been from Djldu, where the cult of Osiris had flourished, and to which Anubis belonged.

Sebak's emblem, the last of the four houses, showed a green and red crocodile, symbolizing the god Sobek, on a black background, making the sun disk more striking than on the other devices. Sobek had been the chief of the crocodile gods, and stood for fertility and water, as well as death, because crocodiles would always present mortal danger. He carried a staff that was also a symbol for royals. The founder Abdel had come from Theben, today called Waset, and had been rivals with the other founder Marik during the founding of the school.

McGonagall went on to explain that the colour symbols were not as those northern peoples were accustomed to. Black wasn't its own colour, but was a mixture of all, and symbolized not only death but also earth and water. Blue represented the Higher Powers, yellow for flesh, green for all that was good and red for all that was evil.

After finishing the details of the four Egyptian houses, students' heads were buzzing with all the strange, confusing names and concepts; looking forward to the end of the lecture. Professor McGonagall dismissed them with the words, "When your new teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts and our visiting students arrive, I expect you all to be familiar with the most important aspects of their houses, and that you show an interest in their history. I am certain that they are curious about our school, too, and perhaps all of you together will find more ways in which you are alike."

Harry strode out of the room, his head swimming. "More ways we're alike, eh? If that means learning more tongue twisters like those, I'll never say a word!"

"But it _is_ interesting!" Ron replied and Ginny nodded. "I mean take Bastet, you know. As far as I remember, she was linked to an even older goddess, who was symbolized as a lioness, or a woman with lioness head, who possessed both light and dark. And now take into account the Gryffindor lion and the colours red and gold – or yellow, to use the Egyptian style. We-"

"Weasel, _SHUT UP_!" Malfoy was passing them and glanced between Ron and a scowling Hermione. "Having _one_ Know-It-All at school is more than enough. And stop boasting about your travels, though it is amazing that you learned something and it stayed in that pea brain of yours!"

"Sod off, Malfoy!" Ron grinned. "I am surprised the green-eyed envy monster hasn't swallowed you whole by now."

Draco turned on his heel. "Me? Envious of you? What could I possibly envy? Your carrot-coloured hair, your vacant expression, your absurd freckles or your second- and third-hand clothes? Really, do you go shopping at the local trash heap?" He'd found it easy to fall back into the old habits of bickering and insults. That that hadn't changed because of the war. For a moment, he almost felt as he had two or three years ago, before his world had been turned upside down, and he hadn't faced horror in its worst form face to face.

The other boy's temper flared as easily as his hair indicated, especially when insulted about his family's situation. "Better my circumstances than going through life with my nose stuck so far in to the air I can't see where I'm going, or a complexion that makes the ghosts look healthy!" he retorted.

"Ron!" Harry warned, knowing where this all was heading.

Draco fingered his wand. Of course they were all fair-skinned, and proud of it! And he wouldn't tolerate insults against his family – even if he had done the same to another a moment before. "You call freckles 'healthy'? Perhaps I can help you remove them. I do have _some_ compassion!" Before he could pull out his wand, certainly to curse Ron, Hermione moved quickly between the two.

"ENOUGH!" she snarled, eyes flaming. "Put your wand away, Malfoy, or I'll give you the first Detention of the year!"

"_What_?" he yelled, unbelievingly. Was she threatening him, the Head Boy, with Detention?

Hermione ignored him and turned towards her boyfriend. "And you shut up, too! Really, since when does a Gryffindor care a fig about what a Slytherin says to him? It's only Ferret-Boy, Ron, so control your temper and don't let yourself be provoked. He's only looking for an excuse to hex you."

_Ferret-Boy!_ Blood rushed into Draco's cheeks, arising from the deadly embarrassment he still felt whenever memory of that unhappy experience was brought up, and the resulting wrath.

Several students had built a circle around the Golden Trio, Ginny and the Slytherin Prince, curious, nudging each other and beginning to choose sides for a fight.

"What is the meaning of this?" McGonagall and Binns had left the room but she was pushing through the teenagers, quickly assessing the circumstances. Minerva only needed one look at Ron Weasley's crimson face and smouldering eyes, and the daggers in Draco Malfoy's to know another fight was moments away. "Ten points from Slytherin and Gryffindor for childish behaviour. You are both of age now, so act like it! And move along to your next class – without the hostility!"

"Ten points from Slytherin?" Draco growled. "We don't even have one bleeding point to be docked!"

The headmistress lifted one brow, ignoring his harsh tone. "If I remember correctly, your former Head, Professor Snape, deducted seventy points from Gryffindor two years ago for the delay you caused Potter on the Hogwarts train. It made the students of my house work that much harder to make them up. Perhaps it will do the same for you and your house!" With those words she continued on down the next corridor, Binns sighed and walked off in another direction.

Malfoy and Ron glared at each other, before the Slytherin hissed: "This is all your fault, Weasley, and yours, bookworm!" His stormy grey eyes glanced at Hermione, who defiantly stuck out her chin. "You'll pay for that!"

"Threatening the Head Girl now, Malfoy?" Harry broke in, green eyes flashing.

"Of course not. After all, she is my associate, isn't she?" He lowered his voice. "I only want to warn her and that miserable excuse of a boyfriend that this isn't over. I am only being fair." With that he turned around and stalked away, his robe billowing behind him.

"Someday that arrogance will be the death of him – and I will dance on his grave!" Ron hissed, but calmed down a bit as Harry wrapped one arm around his shoulder.

"Come on, he's just a spoiled brat – Slytherin is down ten points, and we have a twenty point head start. We're off to a great start!"

Hermione shook her head. She did take Malfoy's threats seriously. His abilities were about the same as hers and there was also the fact that he knew how to get to her. She had to be careful over the next days, especially on patrol and …

"Oh no, I have my first patrol with him!" she moaned, rubbing her forehead. "I'm sooooo not looking forward to it!"

"When?" Ginny asked.

Hermione sighed unhappily. "This evening! Oh lucky me!"

"Shall I accompany you?" Harry offered and the Head Girl made a grimace. "You're not allowed out of the Gryffindor Tower after ten o'clock."

"I could use my invisibility cloak. I did before when I had to be outside. No problem there."

Hermione smiled at him. "That's really thoughtful of you, Harry, but I'll deal with Malfoy myself. I have to live with him the rest of the year, and the sooner we reach some level of civility and understanding, the better it will be for me."

" 'Level of civility,' 'Understanding.' With Malfoy." Ron shook his head. "Really, Hermione, do you still believe in Father Christmas?"

Hermione stuck her tongue out to him and walked toward their next class – Ancient Runes.

The day went by as school days do, and soon evening brought some relief from the heat of the day. The summer had been very hot, and even in the rugged Scottish highlands around the school, the temperature remained torrid during the day until the late evening, when the fresh wind from the lake would lower it.

Hermione had avoided Malfoy as much as possible, and was pleased to find that he wasn't in the common room when she finally made it back to their dorm, late after dinner. Slipping out of her robes, she made herself comfortable on the great winged chair, and pulled out a book from the library she found there: _Egyptian Magic and its History_.

But she couldn't concentrate. The argument between Ron and Malfoy kept coming up before her whenever she tried to read. Finally she closed the book in frustration, and her head fell back onto the chair. She must have dozed off, because the next thing she heard was the cool, sneering voice she so did not want to hear: "Granger? Can't you tell time? We have to be about, so force yourself away from your books and get your Gryffindor ass off that chair!"

Hermione looked up to see the blonde head through the open door, the typical mocking smirk on his lips. Taking a deep breath, she shook her head. "How could I resist such a charming invitation?" she asked wearily, rose, put her robe on and walked towards him, giving him a sweet smile – just before she 'accidentally' tripped over his foot. A strangled oath escaped him, while she batted her eyelashes at him as she passed: "Oops, I am SO sorry!"

Muttering under his breath, he closed the door behind her and followed her.

Patrol after ten o'clock was boring. Of course, walking through the abandoned corridors and having pretty much the whole school to yourself was a unique experience, but still the silence and the twilight were tiresome.

Hermione and Draco split up at every level, turning to opposite sides, and met again after checking the corridors and empty classrooms. No word was spoken, only curt nods told the other that everything was in order. As they reached the third level, fresh air from an open window greeted them, and the girl moved toward it, breathing deeply the warm evening air. It was already fully dark outside, but a full moon sent a silver light over the Forbidden Forest, the Black Lake, the fields, the courtyard and the outer walls of Hogwarts, bathing the landscape in an illusory shimmer of white and blue.

"We'll be back here again in twenty minutes, Granger, so stop dawdling!" Malfoy's voice was harsh, and grimacing she turned toward him, a sharp retort already on her lips. But it was never used. A sudden movement in the courtyard below drew her attention and she quickly turned. Her eyes widened as she saw a small figure running – the figure of a child.

"What's that?" she murmured and Draco frowned, moving beside her and leaned out of the window.

"What the blazes …?" he whispered. The size of the figure in the moonlight told him that it had to be a first year – and he or she was outside, late at night, under the gaze of the Head Students, who were commissioned to make sure that something like this did NOT happen. Not good. The two watched the youngster and saw the direction he or she turned: toward the Black Lake – and therefore straight toward the borders of Hogwarts.

"Damn!" Malfoy's hand whacked the window sill before he whirled around and headed to the staircase, Hermione right behind him.

"Quick, we might stop him in time!" she called and tried to close the increasing distance from Draco, who was taking two steps a time. Both raced down the stairs, regretting the fact once again that the staircases moved from time to time in other directions. Malfoy, having the longer stride, reached the main floor first, followed shortly by Hermione, who was glad she was wearing trousers today and not one of the skirts, both of which were part of the school uniform.

"We … we should tell …" she panted, but was cut off by Draco, who snarled, "No time!" He shot toward the entrance. "And I will not ask a teacher to do _my_ job!"

Granger hissed with frustration. During their sixth year, he had shown no sense of responsibility in his position as Prefect at all, and now he was trying to best her! That Malfoy arrogance! It had to be genetic - she was sure of it! She followed him and a minute later both of them left the courtyard and turned toward the Black Lake, their eyes searching frantically for the small figure of the first grader.

Draco stopped short as they reached a place where they had a view over the descending ground, and suddenly pointed toward the shore. "There!" He pelted down the small hill, robes billowing, Hermione right behind him. Reaching the level area, he raced toward the lake, shouting "Stop!" as the figure turned to the left and headed towards the trees – the trees which were the edge of the Forbidden Forest!

"Dammit! Is this infant suicidal?" Malfoy hissed.

Hermione panted: "I think I recognized him. He's from Hufflepuff." She forced her legs to move faster. "We must run quicker than he."

"Next time I'll patrol with my broom!" Malfoy spat irritated.

They approached the dense shadow of the woods where creatures lived you wouldn't want to meet even by day, let alone in the dark of night. Confined within the borders of the forest by the revived protection of the Ministry of Magic and the administration of Hogwarts, these creatures were no longer able to leave it as they could during the Battle of Hogwarts, but anyone who dared to step into their domain was in mortal danger. The only one who had no fear of them was Hagrid – but the half giant was more than half a mile away, asleep in his tiny house and unaware of their peril.

Draco pulled out his wand for help seeing the runaway, possibly to _stupefy_ him. A stunning spell wouldn't hurt the boy nearly as much as an encounter with a beast in the Forbidden Forest, but the child disappeared between the bushes. Malfoy was breathing hard, and uttered an oath as he paused by the first trees of the wood. Hermione stopped beside him, also out of breath.

"Either he has a death wish or is insane!" the young man breathed, his fingers a fist around his wand; the moonlight shimmered on his silver ring.

"We have to go after him!" Hermione blurted, fighting for breath.

"Are you insane as well?" Draco snapped at her.

She looked up at him, needled. "_We_ are responsible ... for his safety, Malfoy! As a first year, he has no idea ... what's in there!" She was about to cross the border when Malfoy's hand gripped her upper arm, pulling her back.

"You're worse than _he_ is, going into that bloody forest - and at _night_!" He met her gaze in the wavering moonlight, his sneer full of disgust. "Oh, I forgot – it's that legendary Gryffindor courage!"

"Well, better than that legendary Slytherin cowardice!" Hermione hissed, yanked her arm from his grip and took off after the boy.

Draco watched her hastening into the forest and threw his head back in sheer frustration, stifling a howl of rage. _Why him?_ And … and why was this pain-in-the-arse Gryffindor _Mudblood_ showing more courage than he? No way! If she saved that crazy pint-sized bint while he waited at the edge of the forest, he would never live it down. The entire population of Hogwarts, and soon the wizarding world, would point at him, calling him a coward, a shame he would not endure! Muttering every nasty thing he'd ever called her, he sprinted after Hermione, angry for being stuck in such a situation, terrified of what might lay before them.

Reaching her, he yanked her to a halt again, put a finger to her lips to silence her protest and listened carefully. The girl took the hint and listened, too. There, just in front of them – maybe fifty metres away – were the low noises of breaking twigs. "He's running parallel to the lake," Draco whispered.

Quietly as possible, they started toward the other, plunging deeper into the darkness. Quickly the leaves became more dense, preventing any moonlight from reaching them. After both of them stumbled in the nearly-pitch black, having no other choice, Malfoy lifted his wand again.

"_Lumos_!"

The tip of the wand now glowed like a Muggle torch, and they could only hope against hope that it wouldn't draw the attention of the inhabitants of the forest. Like the centaurs. Even if they had been shamed by Hagrid to aiding the teachers and students at the end of the Battle of Hogwarts, they still were very possessive of their territory. To their right, the lake's surface shimmered in the moonlight, its surface decorated by buzzing nocturnal insects in the warm and sticky air, while the two attempted to gain some ground between them and the fleeing boy.

Suddenly something cracked noisily at their left, and both whirled around, their wands ready. Both hearts pounded noisily in their ears, while they tried to see something in the blackness before them.

Something growled softly.

Hermione gulped, trying to swallow her heart now in her throat. "I really hope it's not one of Aragog's children!" she murmured.

"Aragog?" Malfoy's gaze did not waver one moment, awaiting an attack at any second. "Do I want to know who that is, Granger?"

Hermione shook her head, senses still on full alert. "No, you don't, trust me," she whispered back.

"Perhaps this time I will —"

A long howl sounded from afar. Malfoy froze in the middle of his reply, both students nearly leaping out of their skin. It was a howl they'd both heard before, the ululating of a wolf, but Hermione and Draco knew that this was no ordinary animal.

"No," the girl breathed. "No, please not that!"

Malfoy felt a shiver run up then down his spine, and his mouth went dry. Whatever was near retreated noisily as the monster that moment howled again. They both knew it was one of the most feared creatures in the world. For three very long seconds, his urge to run away grew to a nearly unbearable level.

Then he did something he'd never done before.

He decided to stay.

He had lived through the war, and had survived the Battle of Hogwarts (yes, with the help of his arch enemy, but aside from that...) So he should back away from this demented dog? No! "Move. With any luck we can catch this little idiot and leave this nightmare before the beast smells us!"

Hermione swallowed the metallic taste of fear and nodded wordlessly. Malfoy was right. They had to catch the younger boy before he attracted the nocturnal hunter. Taking a deep breath, Hermione gripped her wand tighter and followed her unwilling partner. Not wasting another valuable moment, he dove more deeply into the coppice after the Hufflepuff boy, imagining what kind of detention he'd give this boy in the days to come. His long legs, strong from the past months of training, carried him quickly through the darkness pierced only by his glowing wandtip, Hermione right behind him. He sped through the bushes, brushed a small flying creature out of his way, and headed toward the little bay the Black Lake had shoved into the woods, as he heard the howl again. Much closer this time.

'_Shit! Shit, shit, shit, SHIT!'_ his inner voice repeated while he moved faster, Granger's footsteps a soft echo of his own. Yes, he might be able to fight off the monster moving toward them, driven by its instincts, but he had absolutely no desire to test his magical skills against this beast in its own territory.

He stopped so suddenly that Hermione ran into him, nearly knocking him to the ground. She would have fallen but he caught her reflexively, as his seeker training came into play. He shot her an irritated glare, she returned a wordless scowl, both listening closely.

"I don't hear him anymore!" he whispered.

Hermione, knowing that he referred to the child, cautiously raised her glowing wand and examined the bushes around her. "Look for ... broken branches!" she whispered, out of breath.

He looked at her, disbelieving. "What I am? A bloody pathfinder?" he retorted in a harsh whisper.

The Head Girl pulled a face. "Of course you are! 'Every day a good deed' – so much like you!" she scoffed.

"You're a part of the reportedly 'Golden Trio', so nobility is right up your alley, and… Granger?"

She had moved past him with a frown, and touched some small branches, obviously disturbed. "He went through here." She glanced back at him over her shoulder. "Finished whining, Malfoy?" She shot back his words from the Hogwarts Express. Pushing through the bush in the direction of the disturbed leaves, she heard him muttering maledictions once again. If the situation wasn't so deadly serious, she would have laughed at the look on his face. He looked ready to murder someone.

"You know, Granger, I'm fairly certain I would prefer a long stay in Azkaban rather than have you walking about on earth!" he growled, but followed her. His eyes searched for any further traces the small boy left behind, and soon they were heading toward the shore of the lake. It was then they heard a soft sob from above. Both stood still and glanced upwards to an old oak.

And, sure as God made little green apples, the weeping came from there.

"Hello?" Hermione called quietly, and, getting no answer, she repeated her greeting.

"I- I'm here," came the shaky reply.

In the light of their wands, they saw a small, tear stricken face. The Head Girl recognized him: it was Philip Lally, the little sad boy the Sorting Hat had sorted into Hufflepuff. The pale young lad looked from his place on a tree he climbed down at her, his eyes large and full of fear, despair and tears.

"Finally!" Draco hissed.

"Phillip, right?" Granger panted, and the child nodded slowly. Trying to hold her temper in check, Hermione wiped her brow, looking up at him. "What are you doing here? Don't you know how dangerous the Forbidden-"

Again a long mournful howl floated through the darkness, even closer than the last one. Phillip yelped and clung to the thick branch he was sitting on, while the two Head Students whipped around, their wands raised. They could the low growl that approached, and fought their own rising panic. They wouldn't get out of the Forbidden Forest without confronting the monster. There was no way out of it. The beast approached in the direction from which they had come.

Draco set his jaw. So this was his duty? Keeping smaller ones from harm? So here he was, in middle of the night, in the Forbidden Forest, with witless scared child, that damned Mudblood, and a werewolf closing in on them! He did _SO _want to avoid the next few minutes, but he knew that there was no escape anymore.

He threw a sharp glare at his partner – Granger stood with her face set toward the danger, her face ashen grey, her wand tight in her fist – and then up at the boy. The child didn't stand a chance against the evil nearly upon them. "Stay there until I tell you to come, no matter what!" the Head Boy growled, and tightened his grip around his wand, the sound of galloping now nearly upon them. His instincts told him to flee, but he knew that he couldn't outrun the monster that broke through the brush only twenty meters away.

Hermione fought the same feelings as the Slytherin. She wanted nothing more than to turn and run like the devil was behind her, which it truly would be. But that was useless. She had learned that in her third year, as she and Harry attempted to avoid another member of its kind. Her stomach knotted as the beast stopped and sniffled noisily. Hermione had seen dragons, Acromantulas (giant spiders, able to talk in human languages), and other cursed creatures never seen in any Muggle schoolbook, but nothing compared to this unholy being.

Changing into this bloodthirsty monster only during full moon, at all other times it retained its human form. One could not recognize someone as a werewolf, except if he or she wanted it known. Most wizards – like Remus Lupin – surrendered to the authorities to keep others from harm, and treated themselves with Wolfs Bane Potion, a concoction gave them a miserable day or two, but prevented the transformation. But those who loved the savage animal side of themselves – like the infamous Fenrir Greyback – hid themselves away, tormented by and enjoying that hunger that could no longer be sated.

And the beast that was only twenty paces away, void of all human feeling, existing only for the moment of the kill.

Standing on two long, powerful legs, with its ungainly feet and claws, hunched forward, pointed ears cocked, the beast's sensitive nose knew flesh and fear in the air. Its yellow eyes shone with the hunt. Its forepaws jerked, ready to rip and tear.

Hermione swallowed hard, cold sweeping over her as she edged unknowingly nearer to Malfoy. She knew that they were in mortal danger. Eyes wide, she saw the elegant horror before it sniffed the air almost delicately, and she trembled. She met the yellow eyes and forced herself to stay calm, as the werewolf sniffed again and growled softly. As it took the first step into her direction, Granger did the first thing that came to her. Pointing her wand at the werewolf, she cried, "_Protego_!"

The shield charm came out as a wall of light, forcing the sinister creature back toward the darkness, howling in surprise, pain and rage.

"Nice, Granger!" Draco snarled at her, as the monster regained its power and started toward them again. Shouting "_STUPEFY_!" at the werewolf, the Slytherin Prince didn't stay to see if his hex worked, but whirled and sprinted away, pulling Hermione along with him.

The furious roar proved that his aim had been off, and he ran faster to put some distance between them and the beast, which was now shaking off the badly aimed hex and starting after them. They needed some room to place a well-aimed spell, or the monster would be on top of them before they could move to defend themselves.

"Faster!" Malfoy's voice was shrill now, betraying his fear. Duelling or fighting in a battle was one thing, but facing a subhuman creature with no human mental attributes was something entirely different. In such cases, only one survived. And he really didn't want to die in pieces.

Hermione caught up to him pushing through the underbrush near the shore. Her heart hammered in her chest, rational thought giving way to the flight impulse, simply following Malfoy. He had let go of her, and was now three or four meters in front of her, pulling away, as the fatigue in her legs made them feel as if hot needles were inside them. She ignored this, forcing herself to move faster, to catch up with the boy, when her right foot caught on a root and sent her sprawling, her wand flying out of reach, a cry torn from her lips.

Panicking, Hermione wanted to leap up, but the monster was near, its fangs gleaming in the sporadic moonlight, its breath stinking of fresh blood. Instinctively, Granger rolled aside, avoiding the first pounce, but it only enraged the creature, howling at the moon. Her mind went blank as she waited for the teeth at her neck, but they didn't come. The beast hesitated a moment, sniffed the air again, then it lowered its head toward her body. Hermione's sight blurred as tears welled up in her eyes. She tasted bile in her dry mouth, her whole body trembling in terror as the blood sang in her ears. She uncurled, tried to creep away, sobbing for help.

Draco had heard the girl fall, of course, but he raced several more meters until it penetrated his fear-fogged brain.

Why he stopped, why he turned around to look for that Muggle-born witch, he would never know.

But he did.

Forward momentum finally halted, he whirled around. For a split-second he froze, seeing Hermione lying near the hell-bound creature, knowing that any second could be her last. And then she raised her face in the silver moonlight, and a dagger seemed to plunge into his chest. He knew that expression on her ashen face. He knew it only too well. It was the same desperate, tearful glance she had given him as his mad aunt had used the unforgiveable curse on her, a look he would never forget, no matter how hard he tried, how deeply he resented the memory. The same pleading expression reached him from her wide brown eyes, beseeching him for help.

Shame mingled with rage, both eliminating the fear as he ran back, forgetting his own safety. The werewolf lifted his head to see the alternate prey, just as Malfoy pointed his wand, shouting, "_FLIPENDO_!"

The result was drastic – for the beast. The jinx hit it and threw it off – away from the Head Girl. Spinning through the air it crashed against the trunk of a tree ten meters away, and fell with a grunt, unmoving.

From nearby, other forest animals were stirring, but the sudden silence once again spread over the forest, interrupted by the heavy panting of the two Head Students and the lapping of the water at the shore of the lake, not far away.

TBC…

_Yeah, this was close for our Mione, but the danger isn't over jet, be certain of it. In the next chapter she and Malfoy will face the mysterious cat and jackal for the first time, Draco will find himself in the unwanted position to sooth Hermione, and the two, together with Philip, will be confronted by a shocked and irritated headmistress in her office, while the portraits of Dumbledore and Snape have a lot to say._

_I hope, you liked the last chapter and would love to read some reactions of you._

_Have nice day,_

_Until the next time,_

_Yours Lywh_


	5. Foolishly Bravery

_Dear readers,_

_I'm happy that the next update can be given sooner as usual, and hope you are enjoying the story so far. As told last time, the danger for our two Head-students aren't over jet, and further they will meet the first time two mysterious beings, what will only be the begin of the many odd things, which are going to happen. Further you'll meet the portraits of Dumbledore and Snape, and our Minerva has quite a hard time with the both stubborn Heads._

_Enjoy,_

_Kind regards,_

_Lywhn_

**Chapter 4 – Foolishly Brave**

Heart still pounding, Draco moved to stand over Hermione, his wand steadily pointed toward the unconscious werewolf. Then he heard a quiet sob, and glancing down, Malfoy saw Hermione curled into a tiny ball. Her unruly mane had come loose, and now covered her face. "You okay?" he panted, surprised how hoarse his voice sounded.

The girl didn't answer, but pulled her knees toward her chin and wrapped her arms around them. Draco pressed his lips shut. He wanted to yell at her, demanding to know why she didn't use her wand_. 'She is a witch, isn't she? She could have overcome the beast the moment it hesitated. Stupid bint! She'd almost got herself killed and –'_

He had no idea why he was suddenly so angry with her, but he had to stop himself from pulling her onto her feet and shaking some sense into her. She was supposed to be the Girl Wonder, not the wilting damsel in distress!

The moment she lifted her head to look up at him, his fury vanished. Her now tear-tracked face was white as snow, her eyes huge and dark. She wore such a lost expression that she reminded him of a little Muggle child he'd seen, lost and terrified on the street in London. Hermione's lips trembled, new tears forming in her eyes, as the strain and mortal fear were only beginning to seep away. Malfoy frowned. "Are you hurt?"

Bloody hell, he didn't care! Not one bit! He was only making sure that The Brain wouldn't change into a monster at the next full moon while he was sleeping only next door.

Hermione stared at him, feeling numb and out of place. Terror still made her numb and, while only one thought roiled in her: _'You almost died! You were attacked by a werewolf!' _But she hadn't died. She was saved… Blinking through her tears, she looked up at her rescuer, now a tall shadow towering over her, a moonlit patch of pale blonde where his head was. He asked her something but she didn't catch it. Her mind was still blank.

Patience was not a part of Draco's repertoire, and so he closed the distance to the tearful heap on the ground, and pulled her up, steadying her as she swayed slightly. "Did the bloody thing hurt you?" he demanded – and then suddenly he had his arms full of a sobbing Head Girl, face buried in his chest and her arms wrapped around his waist.

For a long moment he stood thunderstruck. This was ... inconceivable! But it was _real_: Hermione Granger, pride of the thrice-damned Gryffindors, Muggle-born and the bane of his existence, was clinging to him as if he were a lifesaver from a sunken ship, weeping into his chest. His first impulse (when he finally realized that this was not some kind of twisted dream) was to shove her away, and shout at her about ruining his shirt and sweater, but something deep inside – that same part of him which had delivered the unfamiliar courage moments before – wouldn't allow him to rebuke her. He was a Slytherin, with a mortal dislike for the 'Mudblood', but he wasn't a _complete_ bastard. He'd been in life-threatening danger before and he knew how it felt when the threat was removed (right this moment, his own stomach protested harshly against the last few minutes). In fact, he had continually endured such fears during his entire sixth year at school, and in the month afterwards, until Voldemort had been destroyed, he had faced death over and over again. It didn't take much imagination to understand the emotions the girl was victim of at this moment.

Clearing his throat, he awkwardly lifted his free hand and carefully tapped his trembling partner on her back. "Uh, Granger? Don't get me wrong, but we aren't the best of pals, you know."

Hermione knew to whom she was clinging, of course, but she couldn't muster the will to let go. She'd been certain she was going to die. After surviving the horrors of the Second Wizardry War, she would die _here,_ slaughtered by a werewolf. But she'd been given another chance in the form of the one person she had never expected help from. But that didn't matter right now. Her need for a strong shoulder was stronger than her repulsion right now. She heard the pounding of his heart, felt his warmth chasing some of her cold fears away, and, somehow, for a reason she wouldn't dare think about, she felt _safe_. "Please, just one more moment!" she whispered, trying to collect herself.

Malfoy sighed and grimaced. _Why him?_ he asked for the second time that evening. He wasn't the type to comfort weeping girls, never had been, and least of all this freaking Mudblood, but realizing that Granger was far too shaken, he allowed her that moment to use him as a handkerchief before he growled, "Why did this thing almost get you? You're a witch, for God's sake, so why didn't you even _try_ to hex the creature?"

Finally recognizing what she was doing – and with _whom_ – Hermione straightened and looked up, still sniffling as she took a step back, breaking contact with him, and hastily dashed tears from her wet cheeks with the sleeve of her robe. "I-I-I tripped," she answered with a tiny voice, wiping her face now with her sleeve and looking at him. This was the second time in two days that she was so close to him. "I dropped my wand and-"

"You dropped your wand? How stupid is that?" He glanced around them. "You'd better find it now-" He stopped as Hermione's eyes grew wide with terror, looking over his shoulder. "Malfoy!" she gasped, and Draco guessed the reason for it immediately. Turning slowly about, wand raised, he expected the worst.

It was the worst.

There, only paces away, the werewolf towered over them, fangs bared and ready to strike; his eyes, two points of hellish fire, directed at the young man.

Before Draco could react, there was suddenly another howl in the night air. It was strange, foreign – completely different from everything he had ever heard. The beast paused, lifting his head toward the new sound, a growl in its throat. Again the howls echoed through the woods and the werewolf suddenly cringed, whimpering.

Hermione, still wand-less, instinctively closed the distance to her companion once again, and pressed against him. When a _werewolf_ was afraid of something ... wow ... she didn't want to know.

The creature in front of the two students stepped back, his nose rapidly sniffing the air about him, yellow eyes narrowed, frantically searching the dark. Suddenly, the darkness of the woods seemed to deepen, and a blur appeared from nowhere. It was as if night had decided to become a physical presence, and only just finished the procedure. It seemed no larger than a wolf or a large dog, certainly four-legged, but unidentifiable beyond that. There was a black shimmer in the moon-light, like fur, and two fiery eyes. Then the second shadow appeared, smaller, but quick as a flash. Both shadows growled deeply, threateningly, and, to the utter amazement of the two senior students, the werewolf ducked like a puppy; wailing and crying in fright. Then it whirled around and fled, the larger chasing it off.

Draco and Hermione stood together for a very long moment in astonishment. A werewolf never ran away. _Never!_ But they had seen it! Something strange, dangerous, unrecognizable had frightened away the monster.

Malfoy found his voice. "Wha- what is that?" he stuttered.

The girl pointed one shaking finger straight ahead. "Look!"

He watched the smaller shape, only a few meters away. As black as the other, walking on long graceful legs, they could see nothing more than amazingly bright green eyes peering into their souls, then the shadow followed the other one on silent velvet feet and melted into the night.

Both Draco and Hermione stood open-mouthed, attempting to comprehend what just happened. What were those things? From where did they come? Why were they here, exactly when they needed them? Why did they help? And above all, why-

Something cracked behind them and they whirled around. Draco roughly shoved Hermione behind him, since she was still defenceless, and bared his teeth in frustration. Was this nightmare never going to end?

But he breathed easier when he saw the approaching figure. Never before had he been so happy to see the huge man with the wild mane and beard. The groundskeeper lifted his lamp higher, and Hermione pelted toward the newcomer, screeching in relief, "HAGRID!"

"Merlin's beard, what are yeh doin' here, Hermione? An' at full moon, ta boot!" Rubeus Hagrid pulled the shaken girl to him, took in her ashen face, her tears, her tousled curls, and the woodsy detritus stuck to her robe, before his dark eyes narrowed and returned to her companion. "Malfoy! I do hope fer yer sake tha' yeh've a good explanation why yeh two're here and Hermione is so upset!"

The Slytherin did not suppress the urge to roll his eyes. Of course this lame-brained half-wit would come to _that_ conclusion. He answered coldly, "Head duties!"

Hagrid frowned. "Don't try tha' answer, boy! It's almos' midnight, yeh both outta Hogwarts an', if that isn' enough, deep in th' Forbidden Forest! McGonagall warned yeh all o' the remaining dangers 'ere! The noises several minutes ago, it was a werewolf, fer God's sake, and yeh should-"

The girl pulled back from Hagrid's tight one-armed hug and wiped her red nose. "It's not Malfoy's fault we're here, Hagrid. We followed a first-year who was running away."

A deep frown appeared between two enormous eyebrows. "And why didn't yeh tell one o' the perfessors? What if the werewolf had gotta yeh?" His odd accent was stronger now, betraying his irritation.

"We already ran into him – literally!" Draco grumbled, crossing his arms, looking over the oversized man distrustfully. He'd never liked Hagrid (no secret to anyone) but the whole situation made him very uneasy, so he fell into his usual behaviour, hiding the unease behind a mask of arrogance and frost.

The half-giant's face reddened in the meagre lamplight. "WHAT?" he bellowed, placing the lantern beside him on the forest floor, then lifted Hermione's chin with one large finger then spread her arms, turning her almost frantically. "Are yeh hurt? Did th' beast…?"

"I'm okay, Hagrid," Granger interrupted him, her voice stronger now. "I-I… tried to lead the werewolf away from Phillip, and tripped, but-"

Hagrid lifted his heated gaze from the girl and stared down at the Head Boy. "And where YE bin, Malfoy? Standin' aside watchin' th' show?"

Blood shot into Draco's cheeks, but as he opened his mouth for a snappy retort, Hermione stepped between them protectively. "Stop it, Hagrid! Malfoy-" She took a deep breath and finished firmly, "He saved my life."

Hagrid blinked several times as if not sure he'd heard her correctly. The girl looked back over her shoulder straight at the Slytherin. "You saved me," she repeated, her eyes large with wonder.

Malfoy cleared his throat, more uncomfortable than he'd ever been. He was unaccustomed to both sides of gratitude – the giving and the receiving. "Well, uh, yeha," he finally mumbled.

Hagrid harrumphed, and wiped one patched sleeve over his broad forehead. "Well, if tha's the case then, thanks, Malfoy!" He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. "But now back with yeh two. And where's this li'l lad that brought yeh all this trouble?" He lifted his lantern anew. "Show me the way and…"

"My wand!" Hermione exclaimed and looked frantically around her. "I lost it when I tripped and fell."

Promptly the teacher held the light higher. "Then let us be searchin' fer it, but quickly. That miserable beast is still out ther' and I really don't wanna confront it with two or three students on me tail – even if I am eager ter finally catch it. Been makin' us nervous fer more tha' four months now."

The Head-Girl bent, searching ground, looking for a trace of where her wand could have flown as she fell, Hagrid illuminating their surroundings. After a moment with no success, Draco sighed exasperated. "Cripes! Beginners!" he groaned and waved his own wand. "_Accio_ Granger's wand!" he called and a moment later the small wooden staff flew at him. He caught it mid-air, and met two stunned expressions. "One of the easiest charms, Granger – and they say you're the brightest witch of our age," he mocked.

Hermione blushed several shades of red, while she walked to him. "Uh- thank you," she whispered. "But without a wand-"

"Skilled wizards and witches can perform magic without one. This spell is one of the most useful if you're depending on your wand." He offered it to her. "Lucky for you that I'm around," he sneered and turned away, walking off in the direction from which they and the werewolf had come.

Hagrid snorted. "He might'a saved yeh, Hermione, but 'e's still an smart-alecky-"

The Head-Girls shushed him. It wasn't right for a teacher to speak this way about a student. And, as she had to admit, Draco had saved the day this time. He – and the two strange mammals. Following the Slytherin-Prince she looked up at Hagrid, who had taken his lantern again, grumbling into his beard. She was glad he was here. She felt much safer with him. The Forbidden Forest held many mysteries within its borders, and Hagrid seemed to be on speaking terms with nearly all of them.

Malfoy walked ahead of them, hearing the murmurs behind him, still angry with himself and the mess they'd stumbled into. Of course he had to help his partner, even if it was Miss Know-It-All. But wasn't it a part of his philosophy that one didn't have to outrun a pursuer, but only be faster than one's companion? So, why he had been so affected when he saw her lying beneath that monster? He pressed his lips into a thin line. True, there was sufficient standard explanation: no-one would believe that he'd tried to help her if she died during their first patrol together, and he, Draco Malfoy, had no desire to end up in Azkaban. But still, something scratched at him, that this wasn't the real reason he had called up a bravery that heretofore had been no part of him. Perhaps it was a kind of guilt when it came to himself and Granger. And he was eager to put this cursed guilt-thing behind him.

He heard a gasp from above him, paused, lifted his illuminated wand and stared up into an old oak. He saw the lad immediately and frowned. "Come down from there, you little git!" he demanded loudly. "You've made enough trouble for one night!"

Philip, shaken and trembling like a leaf, tried to climb down, but his cold fingers couldn't hold. He certainly would have landed hard, if Malfoy hadn't caught him reflexively. Clutching the young boy's robes at the shoulder, he started to give a lecture worthy of McGonagall herself, but stopped as Hermione and Hagrid arrived. He simply pushed Phillip toward the Head Girl, who promptly pulled the first year into a comforting embrace, turning back toward Hogwarts; muttering the familiar maledictions under his breath.

"That was the most foolish, unbelievably dangerous thing I've heard for – for months!" She stood tall in her velvet dressing gown, and peered down at them over her glasses. "The most foolish, but also the bravest thing!"

McGonagall was behind her desk in the headmaster's office at the tower that hadn't changed a bit since Albus Dumbledore had died. Snape hadn't replaced any of the magical instruments nor any of the portraits of the former headmasters (who were not amused at having been awakened in the middle of the night). Most amazing of all, since Minerva had taken the administration of the school into her talented hands, Fawkes, the phoenix, had returned, now seated on his elegant perch, watching everything with intelligent brown eyes, his red and gold feathers shimmering in the candle-light.

The headmistress clenched her teeth as she surveyed the others seated before her. She wore an old tartan dressing gown, a white hood on her head, and her hair in a long braid falling over her shoulder. The fingers of her right hand drummed on the desktop. Sharply she scrutinized the two Heads who stood in front of her, both somewhat bedraggled from their headlong flight. Both Draco and Hermione had the decency to look sheepish as they listened to their headmistress' rant. "And I thought Potter's gallantry protecting me from Carrow by revealing himself to the enemy couldn't be surpassed, but I was mistaken. Running into the Forbidden Forest during full moon is – is – is senseless and, and, and ... irresponsible!" They could tell how upset she was. McGonagall never had to search for words.

"But Phillip was - We had to help him-" Hermione interjected.

"I dare ter say tha' they saved the l'il lad 'ere," Hagrid put in. He had of course, accompanied the three students back to Hogwarts. The two Head Students had told him the whole story, and led him back to the nearly petrified Phillip McLally. The half-giant simply swooped the boy into one long arm.

Argus Filch, caretaker for the school itself, had been by the entrance as they all entered Hogwarts' courtyard. He tried as best he could, as usual, to make a bad situation worse. He had taken them directly to McGonagall, then immediately began a recitation of the many -rules the three students had broken. Seeing a distressed and dishevelled Hermione Granger, the smug Draco Malfoy and a tearful Hufflepuff first year in the company of the school's groundskeeper, the headmistress could guess some of the reason for the turmoil around midnight. But what she heard turned her stomach into a knot. The odds were very high that she could have lost all three students. And on their very first day!

Minerva sighed. "Yes, of course you had to save him." Her glare fell to the unhappy Phillip, looking most forlorn and practically miniature beside the oversized man. "But you both could have been _killed_! I told you about the dangers of the Forbidden Forest and what do you two do? You run straight into it – during _full moon_!"

"We didn't know that it was a werewolf you were warning us about, Professor," Malfoy said calmly. "After all, everyone says that the area of Hogwarts doesn't have any deadly dangers for students anymore."

Narrowing her eyes, McGonagall answered coolly: "As far as I remember, Mr. Malfoy, it had been _you_ who boasted about the 'dangerous werewolves' you 'met' during a detention in the woods."

"In my first year, yes. I was certain I heard them, but after the War the grounds were cleaned out and observed closely, weren't they? Neither Granger nor I could guess that one of those beasts still remains there." He crossed his long legs and leaned back in the chair, looking for all the world as if he were sitting with a friend for a card game, not facing an enraged headmistress who could expel him.

"We tried ter find it. It might be one o' Greyback's prey – but who ever it is, he or she slipped through like a shadow," Hagrid grumbled.

"Why didn't you call one of the professors?" McGonagall returned to the main topic of this late and unwelcome meeting. "My own rooms are on the first level and you know that you can come to me any time. So why did you go alone?"

"There was no time to get help, Professor!" Again it was Draco who spoke up. "We saw a student running out of the courtyard toward the lake, and tried to catch him. It was only as we got there that we saw him was running along the shore – straight toward the Forbidden Forest. We had no other choice than to follow him by that point."

Minerva rubbed the bridge of her nose, a certain sign that a headache was approaching. "I have to admit that the circumstances were unfortunate and we all know that you both are very capable of defending yourself-" she missed the sarcastically smirk Malfoy directed at Hermione, who blushed "-but nevertheless it was reckless and irresponsible." She watched the two seniors. "And what should I do with you two now? You've broken more than a half dozen school-rules, brought danger down on your own heads and survived once again because of _pure dumb luck_." This time she caught the crease between Draco's eyes, and added: "And of course, because of Mr. Malfoy's quick reaction. Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, which spell did you use?"

"_Flipendo_," Draco answered and watched the bemusement on the headmistress' features.

"Unusual – but effective."

"Yes – if even only for a minute," Hermione grumbled.

The grey eyes beside her widened. " 'For a minute'?" Malfoy protested, clearly offended by the lack of appreciation. "You whined more than a minute and ruined my clothes by weeping like a newborn on my new shirt. And, by the way, if it hadn't been for my 'unusual' spell, the beast would have torn you to shreds. It was attacking _you_, Granger."

McGonagall gasped. "_WHAT_?"

Draco grimaced. "Yeah, she clung to me like a baby to its mother!"

McGonagall shook her head, face pulled into a look of extreme concern. Her eyes searched frantically for any wound the beast might have inflicted on the girl. "The werewolf caught you, Miss Granger?" she asked, her voice almost shrill.

"Y-y-yes, but – but I rolled aside and then i-i-it hesitated," Hermione mumbled, still embarrassed.

"Hesitated?" Hagrid stepped nearer. "Werewolves don't hesitate when they got their prey. They simply-"

"Thank you, Hagrid, no details please! Phillip is shaken enough!" The voice came from the largest portrait in the whole office. It was placed directly behind the headmistress' desk and very familiar, warm and kindly, but firm, while blue eyes watched from behind spectacles shaped like half-moons. Fawkes chirped affectionately.

The five of them turned to look up to the life-sized portrait, showing the former headmaster Albus Dumbledore in one of his star-covered robes, the long silver beard, and an elegant cap on his head, silver-white hair falling to his waist. The other headmaster portraits remained quiet, most still dozing, while the most powerful and wisest wizard of the last centuries smiled gently down on the living, of whom four were very dear to him. Yes, even Draco Malfoy had a large place in his warm heart. This student had given him much trouble, he had even disarmed and threatened Dumbledore on the Astronomy tower, where the old man had finally met his death, but nevertheless Albus held no regrets against the young man. Dumbledore and the headmaster after him, Professor Snape, were probably the two only alive who fully understood the hell this young Slytherin went through. Even the consciousness in the portrait remembered how desperately he wanted to save young Draco from the task of cold-blooded murder that Voldemort had set before him, to keep his soul from that kind of damage. And he _had_ saved him. Or rather Severus Snape had. Dumbledore was dying, and Professor Snape ... well, that too is another story.

"Albus, the behaviour of this werewolf is certainly most unusual," McGonagall replied, and that small smile reappeared on Dumbledore's lips. "Perhaps, perhaps not. Hermione, what did it do after it captured you?"

Granger, still staring at the former headmaster she had deeply mourned losing, bit her lips, clearly uncomfortable. "It- it didn't capture me, Professor. I-I tripped and rolled away as it tried to attack me. And then it… It stopped sniffed the air, and … and ..." As she stopped, Dumbledore's portrait looked thoughtfully at her.

Then another voice cut in – lazy, full of sibilants and sarcasm. "There is one explanation for this strange behaviour, Professor, and you know of what I speak." The words came from her immediate predecessor, the first Slytherin headmaster for a long time. The artist had been kind, ignoring many of the lines produced by years of anger, pain and sneering, painting his hair as black and silky rather than greasy. Looking down his long beak-like nose with glittering black eyes, Severus Snape's portrait had joined the discussion.

Hagrid loudly cleared his throat and shifted his weight, while McGonagall blushed slightly and Dumbledore nodded slowly. "You could be right, Severus, but we need proof." The blue orbs looked down at Hermione's bewildered face, his eyes now uncertain – a very, very rare sight for the most powerful wizard of the last few centuries. "Hermione, my dear, are you… Could it be that you… possibly do not feel your best at the moment?"

Granger blinked several times, puzzled, her eyes on the portrait. "Uh … Sir … Well … I've just been chased by a werewolf and-"

"No, no, child, I do not speak of your mental state, which I can see is clear and reasonable, but of your ... ah … physical situation."

Dumbledore's voice sounded almost embarrassed, which surprised Hermione. Never before had she seen the former headmaster so at a loss for words. She replied slowly, uncertainly, "I feel well, Sir, thank you. I was bruised, yes, but-"

Draco, who had already understood to what the old wizard was referring, finally had enough. "Oh, for pity's sake, Granger, he's asking if you're having your monthly! It certainly would explain the tears!"

Horrified, she faced him and stuttered something no-one could catch, and Malfoy chuckled. With amusement he saw three things at once: McGonagall could blush, Dumbledore's portrait politely averted its eyes and Hermione was now speechless, mouth opening and closing with no sound produced.

Snape sighed. "Regarding this childish reaction by Miss Granger I dare say that she is cycling in her female peculiarity at the moment, and…"

"How _dare_ you?"

Hermione had found her voice again and screamed at the Head-Boy on the top of her lungs, making Minerva jump, several other portraits wince, and Draco angry.

"Some people want to go to bed at some time tonight, Granger," he shouted back, losing his patience. "I had a long day, galloping madly through the wilderness out there, expecting an attack of ghoulies or ghosties or long-leggety beasties at any moment! I had to save this lumbering first year and a stupid excuse for a witch, who stumbled over her own feet and lost her wand, of all things! And tomorrow my entire house will call me barmy because I saved _your_ sorry ass! So skip the whole 'I-am-too-decent-to-talk-about-it' routine and tell them that the beast was obviously smelling your blood!" He lifted a brow. "Pfft, why didn't it faint from the smell is a miracle!" he added with a scoff.

If Hagrid hadn't interfered, catching her upraised hands, Hermione would certainly have scratched out Malfoy's eyes, which earned her a sharp "Miss Granger!" from McGonagall. To be sure, the professor had suffered under the same smug observations and assumptions by the other gender her entire life, and understood the fury that Hermione was feeling right now. To be told what you were thinking didn't matter because of your monthly was one of the worst insults a man could slap on a woman. The half-giant nudged the Head Girl to sit down again, which she finally did after several murderous glances at her counterpart.

The headmistress was slowly losing her patience, as well. "If you two keep up this childish behaviour, then I have you in detention for the rest of the year!" After a last sharp glare of warning, she turned to look up at the painting. "Could that be the reason for the unusual behaviour of the werewolf, Albus?"

Again it was Snape who answered. "Werewolves act on pure instinct. It not only drives their intense desire to destroy any living and to feed on it, but also rules all other desires – including a certain, how can I put it?, hormonal urge, if it stirs."

Hermione gasped and Draco snorted in disgust, while McGonagall clearly found it difficult to breath, and Hagrid cleared his throat again, loud enough to be heard seven floors down in the kitchen. Only Dumbledore remained calm, nodding. "You're right, Severus. And it gives us some important information about the werewolf's gender, and, with that, its eventual identification. We now know it must be male and … Hermione, my dear, please do not look so embarrassed. Those creatures have to obey their instincts. When they feed and a human prey of the opposite gender has – well – a certain 'scent', then another kind of urge wakens in them and-"

Malfoy gaped at the portrait. "Do you mean to say that those beasts gets all hot and bothered when a female has her monthly?" he stated bluntly, saying exactly what the portraits of Snape and Dumbledore were trying to frame more sensitively. But being Draco, and being very tired, he came straight to the point.

"_Mr. Malfoy_!" Minerva gasped, but Snape rolled his eyes.

"A crude way to phrase it, but in principle you're right, Draco. It seems you have saved Miss Granger from ... a fate far worse than death." He slowly shook his head. "At least we've identified something you didn't know!" he added to the furiously embarrassed Head Girl with a very familiar cold sneer.

"Severus, please!" Dumbledore cut in. "We need to find the poor soul that's been infected. Until now no one we know of has been hurt or killed, but this could change with every new full moon." He directed his next words at Hermione. "So, tell me Miss Granger, was the werewolf rather small than tall?"

"It looked much the same as Professor Lupin did when he changed," Granger answered finally, after she had regained some control. "Otherwise I really didn't spend much time attending to its appearance. It was a little too close to make any further observations."

"And thanks to Mr. Malfoy, you will not turn into Greyback's 'grandchild' next month," Snape added lazily. "Well done, Draco! I am proud of you."

Startled, the young man looked up at the portrait showing the former Potions professor and headmaster. A real smile came over his pale face. "Thanks, Uncle Severus."

Hermione looked perplexed, but before she could ask why he called Snape by that title, the golden clock showing the slowly rotating constellations chimed, and told all that it was well past midnight.

Minerva took a deep breath. "Right, the matter concerning the werewolf can be discussed without the students. It's late enough for them. Mr. McLally? Hagrid will accompany you to the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey shall give you a mild sleeping potion, and tomorrow we will meet and discuss your actions!"

Hagrid bent down and lifted the small boy on his arm. "Come on, lad, time ter go ter bed!"

Phillip sniffled and looked from the two other students to the headmistress and back. "I-I-I'm sorry," he choked out, new tears were forming in his eyes. "But I just wanted to go home. Mum is all alone with the baby and Father told me to watch over them before he died," he tried to explain with a quavering voice, but Minerva shook her head.

"We'll talk about that tomorrow, Mr. McLally. Please allow Hagrid take you to the hospital-wing. I do think you've had enough trauma for the night."

The unhappy boy nodded and looked at Hermione and Draco. "Thanks f -for saving my life," he whispered, and Hermione gave him a forced smile, while her partner gave him a look of real animosity. Afraid of the tall young man with the icy grey eyes, he snuggled closer to the half-giant, who went away with a "G' night, Perfessor. G'night, you two!" His heavy steps faded down the spiraling stairs.

"Good night, Hagrid, and thank you!" Hermione called after him and turned her attention back to the Head of her house, who still held them under a stern gaze.

"Now back to my head students!" Her eyes went back and forth between Hermione and Draco. "That you broke many school-rules and ran straight into danger is not in question. To take responsibility for others does include taking responsibility for yourself. I know you did it to save one of your fellow-students, but that doesn't release you from the rules, which were created to protect you all, and to ensure that we are all heading in the same direction, if you take my meaning." She pressed her lips into that thin line again before she raised her voice. "Never before in all my years at Hogwarts did I have students in my office this early in the year for defying the rules. And I dare say that Professor Snape and Professor Dumbledore, too, hadn't the displeasure of lecturing a seventh year the first day after school started!"

She straightened her slender figure. "Fifty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin!" she exclaimed, and both teenagers' jaws dropped, but before they could protest, were cut off by the headmistress again, "and fifty points _for_ Gryffindor and Slytherin for saving the life of a schoolmate!"

Her voice grew softer, while the two students gaped at her, not sure what just happened, like falling off a cliff and finding a net only inches below. "Anyone who showed so much selflessness and bravery must be rewarded. To hold the safety of others above one's own earns our highest respect. It's something we strive to teach our students, and so ameliorates the fact that you disregarded the rules."

Her glance fell on Draco, and he shifted in his seat. "And fifty additional points to Slytherin for saving your partner's life. Setting aside your dislike and risking your own life to rescue the other shows maturity and a strong character. I had hoped, Draco, that you would use this last chance to create a new destiny in your life that leads away from the wrong decisions you were forced to make in years past. And you haven't disappointed me." A half-smile slipped into the left corner of her mouth. "You made a good beginning and proved that we were right in welcoming you back to Hogwarts. I hope this wasn't an exception, and that, by the end of the year, we will bid farewell not only to a brilliant student and responsible Head Boy, but also to a young man who will contribute to our culture with dignity, courage and skill."

Malfoy, clearly uncomfortable, nodded and murmured, "Thank you, Madam."

"And one last thing, Mr. Malfoy. I demand that you cease the insults regarding your school mates coming from Halfblood or Muggle families. Those ancient prejudices nearly destroyed our world. People with the magical gift are the reason for our culture, and the line of descent has no meaning here. It seems the gene for magic is present in all of the human family, and we must consider ourselves fortunate indeed that it has shown itself in us. There are only those without magic – Muggles who are still _humans_ – and us." Her gaze passed between the two students. "I do know that you both have a history with each other, but please remember that you are not only representing our school, but that you are also examples for the other pupils. So stop hurling damaging words at each other. You've shown this night how strong you can be when working together. And I expect both of you to show some respect to the other!"

Malfoy gritted his teeth and nodded shortly, while Granger stucked out her chin defiantly, but then nodded, too.

Minerval's smile grew. "Right, you two, and now straight to bed! Thank God I don't have to tell you to be sure they're your own!" Two shocked faces stared at her, then looked at each other in disgust. The portrait of Dumbledore made a chuckling sound and winked.

"Good night, Professor, and- oh, I almost forgot!" Hermione slapped her hand at her forehead. "How could I?"

"You forgot something _again_? Aren't you a little young for senility?" Even after the speech from the headmistress, Draco couldn't resist. Minerva sighed quietly, but let the teasing pass.

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him and turned toward McGonagall. "Professor, something else happened. As the werewolf regained consciousness after Malfoy's hex, and was about to attack again, it was chased away by two, two ... black ... creatures."

A long silence resulted, until Phineas Nigellus Black, another former headmaster of Hogwarts, sneered in his portrait. He was a Slytherin through and through and loosely related to Draco through his mother, who was a Black. "There's the proof that Muggle-borns have trouble fitting into the wizarding world. Werewolves, young lady, don't flee from an animal. They use them as snacks, and-"

"You weren't there, Professor!" Hermione interrupted. This earned her a set of raised eyebrows from the most of the other portraits. "At first there was a howl that sounded very different from anything I'd ever heard. It made the werewolf stop and whimper. And then there came two four-legged-shadows out of the bushes and the werewolf ran away. It seemed almost panic-stricken. And then they followed it." She looked up to Dumbledore. "That's strange, isn't it?"

The old wizard nodded slowly, deeply in thought.

Black slapped his hand on the table painted before him. "I beg you, Albus. Some mysterious shadows coming to the rescue of some terror-stricken student, chasing away an attacking werewolf! It's nonsense! A fantasy! Perhaps she was hallucinating and-"

Phineas got no further, because Hermione snapped, "I don't have hallucinations, Professor! And I don't make up stories! There were two smaller shadows, and they both frightened the werewolf away!" She turned towards Malfoy. "You saw them, didn't you?"

Draco nodded, biting his lip, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers, clearly reluctant to participate in this new line of conversation.

"What did they look like?" Snape asked, and watched her with a serenity she wished he had displayed when he was still her Potions teacher, and showing his distaste for her at every opportunity.

"You couldn't see them clearly," Malfoy answered. "There was only some dodgy moonlight between the trees and my wand. All I could make out were four legs and eerily gleaming eyes." He looked over at the girl. "Can we go now? I need my beauty-sleep."

"Really? What for?" Hermione threw back.

Of course, it was the wrong thing to say. "Wow, Granger. I didn't know you thought me that good-looking, but thank you. It was most welcome." He bowed slightly towards her, flashing a fake smile.

"How do you even see around that ego, Malfoy? It must be the size of Mount Everest!" Hermione shot back. They both heard the giggle and, to Granger's shock, it was Dumbledore. The mightiest wizard of the last few centuries was… _giggling_? Impossible!

"They sound like a long-married couple, don't they, Minerva?"

The expression on both the students' faces was priceless, and McGonagall chuckled. "I agree with you, Albus." Then she pointed firmly to the spiraling staircase. "Thanks for the information, and the evening's entertainment, and now to bed with you! I don't want to hear reports of you falling asleep during class tomorrow. And I don't want to see you here in this office any time again soon– except when bringing me the plans for the Christmas-party or the first Head report of the Prefects!"

Hermione and Draco nodded, bid good-night, and left the office. But not without a new tiff, concerning who would go down the stairs first. After Malfoy shoved in front before the girl had a chance to do so, she hissed: "Very well. After all, should I trip in the dark, I'll fall straight into you."

"I already pulled your sorry self out of trouble tonight, Granger! Don't count on me for the next time!"

"Ow, you are such a sweetheart!"

"Don't make me sick! And, by the way, you owe me now!"

"After everything you've called me and did to us during the last seven years?" The gargoyle that watched and protected the entrance to the headmaster's office, moved and the door closed behind the two; cutting off the quarrel.

Minerva McGonagall rubbed her temple. The headache that started minutes ago was worse now, and she sighed deeply. "There are two possibilities: either they will have killed each other by the end of the school year, or fallen madly in love!"

TBC…

_Laugh, poor McGonagall… It really isn't easy with two pig-heads like Mione and Draco. In the next chapter you will not only meet an old 'friend' from the last books, but also the new four guest-students and the new teacher. _

_I hope you liked this chapter and I would be very, very happy if I could get some reviews, please._

_Have a nice day,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	6. The Arrival

_Dear Readers,_I do hope you enjoy the story so far and I'm happy that more than 300 seems to read this fic.

_As promised this chapter will introduce the Egyptian students and the new teacher for DADA, and I'm curious how you're going to like it. Of course there is also a aftermath from the incidents in McGonagall's office and you'll meet an 'old friend' from the original books, too._

_So, have fun, and please, please leave some reviews._

_Love_

_Lywhn_

**Chapter 5 – Arrival**

Hermione and Malfoy eventually lapsed into silence walking back to the Head Student's dormitories, ignoring each other. Draco was infuriated by the apparent lack of gratitude from the Muggle-born. Blimey, he had saved her LIFE, but that didn't seem to stop her snarking. She'd even raised her hand against him, that false little toad, too prudish to even talk about completely natural things. By Slytherin's wiggly wand, she really needed to be shown her place, or someday he would put her in it!

The girl, on the other hand, shook with the indignation that Malfoy had referred to something so personal and discussed it so openly. Her temporary female state was NOT a topic of conversation, damn it! And that blonde blast-ended screwt had the nerve to tell the headmistress – AND all of the headmaster portraits, including Dumbledore! – of her emotional meltdown in the forest. A Gryffindor was expected to be brave, to face such threats with courage and determination, not to go flying off the handle, weeping into the enemy's chest. It was humiliating that this show of weakness had been exposed to the others.

And then he'd even told them that she'd lost her wand, which made her look even more foolish. _Arrogant, self loving jerk! Couldn't he keep quiet about it?_ Well, at least he hadn't said anything about the scene afterwards, when she and Hagrid were searching for her wand. While the half giant had shone his lamp on their surroundings, Hermione had frantically looked for wand, but without success. It was too dark, and there was too much ground cover. And, once again, it had been Malfoy who had come to her aid, '_Accio_ Hermione's wand' and an easy flip of his wrist. Of course, he had mocked her, that those with skills could do a spell even without a wand; had said, with that infuriatingly self-satisfied smirk (as he offered the retrieved tool to her, far too generous for her taste) that the _Accio_ charm was one of the very first every wizard should learn to do without wand, because of the situation she was in. Oh, if he hadn't just saved her life, she would have slapped that grin from his conceited, pureblood face!

Still brooding about events of the last hour, Hermione strode the same direction as he (definitely not _with_ him) and rounded the corner to their dorm. The portrait that guarded the entrance to the dormitory awoke, startled. "Finally!" the knight, who once had been a wanderer between the world of Muggles and wizards, stated. "It's very late, you know, and you surely should have returned before "

"Stuff it!" Draco growled, whose mood had sunken even lower during the walk from the Headmaster's Tower to this floor. "Lion and snake have the responsibility!" he snapped the password, and with an offended "Hmpf!" the portrait swung open. "After _you_, milady!" Malfoy sneered, exaggerating a low bow. Hermione lifted her chin defiantly and stepped into the common room. The door closed behind the Head Boy.

Candlelight illuminated the room and a fire crackled in the open fireplace, warming the air. The nights in this area of the country were unusually warm this year, but they grew damp in the early morning hours, and Hermione was glad to find the common room so comfortable.

She bit her lips as Malfoy passed her, his jaw set and a bitter expression around his mouth. And, all of sudden, her normally very active conscience awoke, making her uneasy. Draco had saved her, there was no denying it. She would be dead now if it not for him – even if his spell didn't hold the beast at bay very long. But that was beside the point. The Slytherin had come to her rescue. Ignoring their years old feud, he had risked his own life for her, and that was what mattered. Putting away her indignation regarding his behaviour during their meeting with McGonagall, she said hesitatingly: "Malfoy?"

He stopped at the stair which led to his own chamber and glanced back over his shoulder with a cold look. "Yes?" he snapped.

Hermione took a deep breath. "I-I want to thank-"

"THERE's young miss and master!"

The rough rumbling voice startled both students enough to make them jump and whirl around, wands drawn. A small figure, no higher than two or three feet, slid off the Gryffindor ottoman and landed heavily on the floor, ambling towards the two, glancing up at them with large blood shot eyes out of a wrinkled, grim but friendly face.

"Kreacher!" Hermione all but squeaked at the house elf. Then she relaxed, putting away her wand. "Hell's bells, you startled me!"

The little creature looked up at her, its bat like oversized ears hung down, showing several trimmed white hairs, while it rubbed a long fleshy nose and tugged the clean dish towel it wore as a garment. The locket around its neck, the one his former master, Regulus Black, created to trick Voldemort, winked at his chest. Since Harry had given the locket to the old elf (who had been overwhelmed with emotion at the completely unexpected generosity of receiving something from his most beloved master as his very own) Kreacher had developed a fierce loyalty toward the boy-who-lived and his friends. Even Hermione, whom he first saw only as a 'filthy Mudblood', had gained his trust and a sort of friendship had developed at last. The house elves, under his command, had played an important part in the rebellion against and ultimate defeat of Voldemort.

"Kreacher is so sorry about this, Miss, but Master Harry sent Kreacher here to wait for you." Then he bowed deeply to her. "Good evening, Miss." His voice was just as hoarse and deep as she remembered. He still sounded like a loquacious bullfrog. He made two sidesteps to get a better view at Draco, who watched the small servant with an unreadable expression, and Kreacher bowed to him, too. "Good evening, Master Malfoy. Kreacher hopes the young Master is well."

Hermione knew that Kreacher had developed a distinct affection to Draco two years ago (after all, the Prince of Slytherin was related to the Blacks, the family Kreacher and his mother and grandmother had served). She smiled gently, warmed by the friendly welcome. "Thank you, Kreacher, I am well."

The house elf beamed at her and turned his attention back to Draco, who rolled his eyes. "Me, too!" he groused, while he shook inwardly his head. So, the Mudblood had somehow managed to win the old bat's friendship. It seems that even a loyal servant like Kreacher couldn't resist that anti-slavery theme the Muggle-born witch had founded.

"Kreacher, why did Harry send you here?" Hermione shrugged off her robe and threw it over the ottoman.

"Master Harry was worried, Miss. Master Harry said Miss has first patrol tonight and that the grounds are still dangerous. So the Master called Kreacher and asked him to stay here until the Miss is back and to report to him how she is doing."

"How touching!" Draco scoffed, returning to the centre of the room falling onto the Slytherin green sofa, laying his head back on the armrest. _This Gryffindor friendship/loyalty thing was making him sick._ If he had listened more closely to his own heart, he would realize that this feeling was born out of jealousy. He'd had friends of his own until last year; Theodore Nott and Zabini Blaise, also the girl who sometimes warmed his bed, Pansy Parkinson, and even his two 'bodyguards' Crabbe and Goyle might possibly be called friends. But Nott and Goyle were now in Azkaban for siding with Voldemort and attempting to kill other students and to capture Potter. Crabbe was dead, killed by the demonic fire he himself had started in the Room of Requirement, and Blaise and Parkinson were living their own lives outside of Great Britain, as far as he knew. Further, most of the students that he'd known since his first year had left the school, and most of the younger ones were now uneasy around him. He was very much alone now. Friendship and loyalty were -

Hermione ignored his snort and bent down to the elf. "This is so nice of you, Kreacher. I am sorry that I came in so late. You must be tired."

The house elf shook its head violently, which made his oversized ears flap like a large dog shaking off water. "No, no, Miss. Kreacher isn't tired at all." This was a lie, after all he had fallen asleep on the sofa, just waking up when he heard their voices, but his kind wouldn't show weariness, and so he straightened his tiny form and propped his little fists on his hips. Critically, from long experience, he looked at the human girl and said slowly: "Miss shall not misunderstand Kreacher, but Miss seems distressed and shaken."

Draco opened one eye and glanced up at the ceiling with a weary sigh. _No, please, not another mother hen of a house elf, adoring one of the Golden Trio like that miserable traitor Dobby did!_ – and closed it, growling, "That's normal when you've had a run in with a werewolf!"

Kreacher squeaked in shock, his large eyes now nearly on stalks. "Is Miss well?" he asked in alarm.

Before Hermione could answer, her partner snapped, "Yes, she is healthy and well, can't you tell? And completely up to her normal bitchy self!"

Kreacher stood stock still, while Granger turned toward her companion. "There's no reason to act so snippy, Malfoy! Yes, you helped me a lot – but you embarrassed me in front of the entire headmaster staff." He didn't visibly react, and so she continued with her peace offering. "But you did save my life, and we made a good team this evening. Perhaps we can be more civil to each other from now on?" Her voice was hopeful.

He suddenly sat up and she met his steely gaze, cold as ice. "Do you call screaming bloody murder at someone and trying to scratch their eyes out _civil_?"

Hermione sighed. "Talking about a girl's … condition openly as you did would earn you a slap from any decent female anywhere in the world." She rubbed her temples. "Both our nerves are on edge, and-" she bit her lips "—and I might have over reacted in the headmaster's office."

He looked her up and down and snorted, before he lying back, murmuring, "Whatever!"

Kreacher looked back and forth between the two, and his own magical senses felt more than the human eye and ear would ever catch. He gently touched Hermione's hand with his cool thin fingers, and when she glanced down at him, he offered, "The Miss and the noble Master need to relax. Werewolves are evil, very evil. Kreacher doesn't like them. Kreacher met one of them several times, but every time Kreacher was happy to see the monster from behind. Miss should sit down while Kreacher makes her one of his hot chocolates."

Hermione had to smile at the ancient elf's eagerness and impulse to serve her. What a difference from the behaviour he showed her at first! "Thank you so much, Kreacher, but it is late and surely you need your sleep."

One long, crinkled hand waved before her face. "That's no problem for Kreacher. He makes the Miss a hot chocolate and she'll be able to sleep most peacefully." His large eyes went to Malfoy. "What may I bring Master Draco?"

Being addressed, the Slytherin lifted his head from the armrest again, and glared in the direction of the house elf. (In his position, he only saw the points of its large ears.) "A glass of firewhiskey would be highly appreciated!" he drawled and got the reaction he had expected: Kreacher gasped and Granger grimaced. He shook his head disgustedly. "Bedlam and balderdash! I don't need a hot chocolate to forget the last hour, but a firewhiskey would help – as Miss Snippy over there called it – take the edge off!"

Kreacher peeked around the Gryffindor ottoman at him, obviously cautious. "B-b-but Sir! Kreacher cannot!" he mumbled, for strong alcohol was forbidden for the students of Hogwarts.

Hermione took in the ashen features of her partner. His eyes were red and shadows had begun to appear beneath them, betraying not only his fatigue, but also the fear he had felt and was so desperately trying to mask. Only the blink of an eye had separated him from being the first prey of a new werewolf. "Kreacher, it's okay," she said gently, but her attention didn't waver from Draco, who was no less surprised than the elf. "Master Malfoy has been through a lot, just like me, and I do think in this case a firewhiskey would be appropriate. After all, we are both of age," Hermione added.

Kreacher pursed his lips, looked one time back at the grandnephew of his last mistress, shrugged and dis-apparated with the familiar loud _crack_.

Draco didn't move his gaze from Hermione as she sat slid back on the sofa – exhausted and face dirtied; her eyes still puffy and haunted. He was the first who broke the silence, his voice less bitter. "You really have turned into a rebel, Granger, haven't you? You avoid our coach, then you lie to our headmistress about it, third you break a handful of school rules to chase down a stupid runaway, and at last you're ordering a house elf to bring forbidden alcohol." The chill left his gaze as he cocked his head; too exhausted to stay irritated. "What comes next? Do you skinny dip in the lake?"

The slightest blush crept into her face, while she snorted softly, clearly amused (and relieved that the atmosphere was so dark anymore). "In your dreams, Malfoy, if one of the first years falls in," she replied with a weary smile.

"I've nightmares enough, thank you so very much," came the expected comment, but it lacked the usual venom. They looked at each other, then he let his head fall back again and Hermione pulled her legs up to stretch out on the sofa. For more than five minutes they sat in companionable silence and pondered their own thoughts, before another _crack_ signalled the return of Kreacher, balancing a tray with a cup and a glass. "Kreacher is sorry that it took so long, but he had first to report to Master Harry that the Miss is safely back."

He placed the steaming bowl on the table (the chocolate smelled heavenly) and the glass with the golden fluid in front of Draco. "To your health!" he rumbled. Worriedly, Hermione bent forward. "Did you Harry tell about the werewolf?"

Kreacher looked at her as if she were out of her mind. "Of course Kreacher told Master Harry everything he knew. The master was shocked and very worried, but Kreacher assured him that the Miss is unharmed and well. He also told Master Harry that the young Master Malfoy," he bowed again towards Draco, "saved the Miss." A hesitant and adoring smile spread over his old face with the far too long nose and the too many layers of skin. "No one could expect otherwise from someone as noble as a Malfoy."

Draco, ignoring the last part, groaned and closed his eyes shortly, before he rubbed his forehead. "Splendid! And tomorrow I'm to be surrounded by grateful Gryffindors, receive a warm speech from Scar-head, and my own house will laugh me to scorn! Thank you so very much!"

Hermione sipped from her bowl and glanced over the edge of it at him. "Is the Prince of Slytherin embarrassed to be the hero for once?"

His grey eyes glared at her. "I'm NOT embarrassed. Heroism is normal for a Malfoy, cradle to grave. But, I do like how you say my title. I didn't know could you see the real me."

"And here we go again: Malfoy the Egotist demonstrates once again how to be the snob of the year!" Her words were sarcastic, but there was amusement in her voice.

He scowled at her, and tipped his glass and took a large gulp, licking his lips as the chemical warmth spread from his stomach through his tense body and chased away the chills of the night's adventures. Granger made a face but kept silent while she sipping her chocolate, relishing in the bittersweet aftertaste. "Really, Kreacher, you make the best hot chocolate in the world!" she told the little creature, whose large eyes instantly went teary. He still wasn't used to be treated with so much warmth and kindness, and with a sob, he took Hermione's hand and placed a loud (and very wet) kiss on it. "Miss is too nice to Kreacher. Kreacher had been so very mean to Miss, but she's always so friendly and kind. Kreacher will ever adore the lovely Miss until he dies!"

Draco almost sputtered in his glass and started to cough. A moment later he was sure that his backbone was now out of joint, because Kreacher had jumped onto the sofa beside him and was drumming on his back. "Careful, Master Draco! Kreacher warned you, but the young sir didn't listen. Firewhiskey is very strong, Sir, very strong!"

Hermione couldn't help it, she laughed as she saw her old enemy turning red, gasping for breath and trying – unsuccessfully – to ward off the fussy old elf.

"Stop it, you bloody twit! I'll need my back again tomorrow!" he protested between gasps, but Kreacher didn't slow down.

"There, there, dear Sir, Kreacher won't anything let happen to the noble young master!"

Hermione was laughing so hard by now she had to put down her chocolate, and finally she took pity at the nearly desperate Head Boy who was attempting to avoid the elf and to protect his glass in the same time. "Kreacher!" she called and promptly the house elf stopped in the middle of his movements, facing her with an alert and expectant expression on his crinkled face. Draco used the recess to put a safe distance between himself and the eager little servant. "Kreacher, I think 'Master Malfoy' is fine now. Thank you."

Kreacher peered sceptically at the Slytherin, who was still fighting for breath, and whose eyes were watering. "Is Miss sure about this? The young sir does not look so good. Maybe-" He made a step toward Draco, who leaped from the sofa, still holding his precious glass and holding the other hand up at the house elf. "No, no, thanks, I'm well!" he choked out and Kreacher shrugged.

"If the young Master says so." He hopped down from the ottoman and shuffled back towards Hermione, who tried very hard to swallow the remaining giggles.

"Kreacher, thank you so much for your care and our drinks."

Kreacher beamed up at her. "Does the Miss, or the young Master, wish anything else?"

Granger shook her head. "No, thanks a lot, Kreacher. It's late now and we want to go to bed. And I am certain that you'll need to sleep, too."

The house elf took the hint and bowed deeply. "Kreacher wishes the Miss and the noble young Master a very good night." After one last calculating glance in Draco's direction (who promptly stiffened) the well-known _crack_ was heard and the little creature vanished.

Once again, silence spread over the common room, before Draco drained the last drops from his glass and placed it back on the table. "Someday you will have to tell me how you managed to win that nasty animal over to your side. When he met my mother and aunt he spoke of Mud- um, Muggle-borns like a raging pestilence, and now he is head over heels for you."

Hermione grinned, feeling that the atmosphere had now changed for the better. "It's called 'grace'," she replied, her tired eyes sparkled for a moment.

Malfoy lifted both brows. " 'Grace'? I didn't realize you knew the word, let alone the meaning of it!" The mockery in his voice was obvious, but his face remained relaxed. He straightened and turned toward the stairs leading to his room. "G'night!" he brought himself to say, but before he reached the fifth step, Hermione's voice called him back again.

"Draco?"

It was the first time she called him by his given name. Not during when the presence of a teacher demanded it, but of her own free will. And Malfoy tried to ignore how sweetly his name sounded in her mouth.

"Yeh?" he asked impatient and turned around to face her again.

"Thank you. Thank you for saving me." Her voice was soft, and for a long moment Malfoy didn't know how to respond. It was rare that he lacked an answer, but this time he had to search for a long moment before the right words came to his mind.

"You're welcome!" he finally said. Before he ascended the final steps, he hesitated one more time. His eyes found hers, only spots of reflected light in the twilight of the staircase. "I'm certain that you know about the life debt between two wizards, if one saves the other. You owe me, Granger. Don't forget it!" With these final words, he crossed the distance to his door and vanished, after he murmured the password to the sleepy portrait.

Hermione sighed. And here she'd thought he would skip the whole 'I am the king of the world' hassle, but of course – being a Malfoy – he would not let her forget the one time didn't act like an utter jerk but showed some humanity. Shaking her head, she returned to her ottoman to empty her bowl of chocolate. Her thoughts wandered to Harry and Ron, and she knew that she would have a lot of explaining to do the next day.

She couldn't imagine that the next day would hold more for them all than the surprisingly selfless deed of the Slytherin-Prince.

When the next morning came, Hermione was more tired than she'd ever remembered being at Hogwarts. After the second short night filled with nightmares, she felt as if she'd been beaten up. She showered in cold water of her own free will to help her wake up properly. After she fed Crookshanks, and was pulling out her school uniform, she heard a male voice call from the common room. Surprised, the Head Girl left her room and peered carefully down the stairs, finding the stout frame of Professor Slughorn in the middle of the common area.

"Professor?" she asked, and walked down the last steps, forgetting for a moment that she only wore a short strapped white cotton and lace nightgown; her unruly hair falling down her back.

"Oh, good morning, Miss Granger. I hope I didn't waken you," he said, a kindly smile on his round face.

"No, Sir, I was already up. May I help you?" It was rare that a teacher sought out the dormitory of the students.

The Potions-professor seemed a bit tense and answered, "Miss Granger, I'm sorry for the hurry, but you and Mr. Malfoy are required to be down in the Great Hall in 15 minutes. Professor McGonagall received an owl only moments ago with the message that our guests have already crossed our borders. And the Head Students and the Prefects are our welcoming committee, so," he shrugged his shoulders apologetically, "is Mr. Malfoy up, too?"

Hermione, who had just gotten it into her head that she had only a quarter hour to make herself presentable, blinked several times and stuttered: "I – I – I ... don't know. I think so, but-"

Horace clasped his hands, clearly distressed. "Please, Miss Granger, time is running out!"

That sent her into action. With a "We'll be there!" she whirled around and raced up the stairs, while Slughorn left their quarters.

Hermione ran into her dorm, hearing the shower begin next door. She moaned. If Malfoy was only now starting his daily routine, she knew he'd be taking his time after the night they'd had, and then they would be in trouble. Not caring about decency or her state of dress, she dislodged the charm that sealed her side of the door leading to the bathroom, and pounded on it; screaming his name. For an agonizingly long moment no response came, and Hermione renewed her shouts, this time even louder (Crookshanks meowed in protest). Finally the shower was shut off and an angry voice came from the other side of the door, muffled by the thick wood. She ignored him, continuing her efforts to get the Head Boy's full attention.

"MALFOY! Stop complaining and SHOW YOUR STUPID FACE!" she screeched, drumming again at the heavy door, which suddenly swung open, revealing the infuriated Slytherin. He wore a towel around his hips, held in place by one of his hands. Water dripped from his silver blond hair; streaming over his pale, admirable chest.

"BLIMEY, _GRANGER_, can't a bloke even shower in peace?" he shouted, eyes shooting daggers at her, cheeks pink with anger and hot water.

Hermione, far too flustered to notice his state, cried: "We have to be in the Great Hall in the next fifteen minutes, so skip your beauty regimen and-"

The index finger of his free hand was shoved into her face. "Listen, Mudblood, if you disturb me one more time during my only private moments in this blasted castle, I surely will send you with my own hands to your Maker-" The rest was unintelligible, because Hermione did the first thing that popped into her mind, pressing a hand over his lips, effectively shutting him up while he stared cross eyed at her hand, clearly too perplexed by her boldness to react.

"SHUT UP, for God's sake!" The pitch of her voice had now reached a frequency a lyric soprano would be jealous of. "Slughorn was here and we have to be down to meet McGonagall and our visitors in the Great Hall _in the next quarter of hour_!" she gasped, as his fingers closed around her wrist and yanked her hand from his mouth, his grip iron hard and painful, his glare murderous.

"Don't. You. Touch. Me!" he hissed, then – finally – her words sank in. "_What_?"

Rolling her eyes, Hermione stepped back and wrenched her arm free. There would be bruises later, no doubt about it. "You're really slow in the morning, aren't you? The new teacher and our school's guests will be here before breakfast and you and I are required down with the headmistress. _Do you have it now_?" Anger made her tone shrill.

Draco, who'd had a bad night himself for the same reason as Hermione, gasped. "In-in _fifteen minutes_?" he choked out.

"No, twelve now, Ferret-Boy, so bloody hurry up!"

His eyes narrowed at the hated that name, and he was ready to throw an insult back when his mind started to work properly at last, and with a loud "SHIT!" he whirled around and hastened back toward the shower.

Hermione watched him and only then saw several bruises on his bare back – certainly a souvenir from Kreacher's well-intentioned help – when she finally saw his state of undress. Her eyes widened and she couldn't help taking in his appearance for a moment more.

Muscles were defined beneath his smooth white skin, his long legs moved with natural grace, and as he grasped the shower curtain, he moved sinuously, like a dancer. For several seconds she was reminded of the marble statues she had seen in museums from the Roman and Greek periods. And then she realized why he had suddenly stopped. On the far wall was the full-length mirror, and he caught her staring at him, and their eyes met.

Draco froze when he saw Granger watching him in the mirror. How dare she! He wanted to fetch his wand and hex her all the way into next week, when something else caught his eye. She was only wearing a short, white nightgown, revealing more than it hid – especially two sleek long legs, creamy white with a hint of gold from the summer sun on her skin. His mind was in turmoil. How had her robes and his attitude served to hide something like _that_ for such a long time?

Then he remembered that she was watching him and lifted his glance. She was staring at him, her brown eyes wide. A slow smirk appeared on his face as his male ego kicked in. One of his many inner devils jumped into action and he simply dropped the towel before he stepped back into the shower. Her high-pitched "Pervert!" echoed through the room, and the door to her quarters slammed shut. Draco grinned, reaching for his soap to finish his shower. Well, getting Hermione Granger worked up first thing in the morning was a good way to start a day.

Twenty minutes later, Hermione stepped past the portrait-door into the hallway outside their dormitory, her nerves a mess and her hair nearly as bad. "We're late! We're late and it's your fault!" she hissed at her companion.

"Oh, calm down, Granger. You're speaking of five lousy minutes and-"

"You couldn't skip your beauty routine, couldn't you?" she snapped, wringing her hands and jogging toward the staircase; ignoring the soft and very pleasant scent of his aftershave. "Even if the whole world is at stake, Mr. Malfoy has to make certain every hair is in place!" Indeed his sleek blond hair was combed to perfection, but his straight blond hair was easily put into place. Something else had taken his time.

"Ever heard of 'shaving', Granger? I know that you friends aren't grown-up enough to need to shave, but being a man now, I refuse to greet our guests with the appearance of a back-alley drunkard. And a good shave takes time!"

Hermione shook her head. "Five minutes late. _Five minutes_ – and we are not even there!"

They raced down the stairs, the noise of hundreds of voices growing. The whole castle seemed to be in turmoil, more and more students were going their way, and Head Girl and Boy had to push their way through them. But that didn't hinder their bickering. "And why didn't you use the extra time I took to search for a brush?" Draco scoffed. "Really, Granger, you look as if you just have put your finger into a lightning storm!" Hermione stopped and Draco, who nearly walked into her. "Hey, watch it!" he growled. "I don't want to have to change again because your Mudblood stink is all over me!"

Being one step above her and a head taller than she, she had to look up and back to see into his eyes. "If you ever call me that again, Ferret-Face, I swear I will-"

"Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, about time!" squeaked a voice. The tiny Flitwick stood at the bottom of the stairs looking up at them, tapping one foot impatiently. He waved the other students away who were blocking his view. "We've been expecting you."

"Five minutes!" Draco snapped, and didn't care that he was speaking to a teacher. "If someone had informed us earlier, we would have been in time."

The little man frowned at the tone of the Head Boy who descended hastily, his female partner with him. "Sometimes speed is essential."

"True, but I don't think McGonagall would appreciate us half naked, unshaven and uncombed to greet the guests." He glanced over his shoulder at Hermione and added, "Oh, never mind the last part!" toward Flitwick, who was definitely irritated. Passing him, the two teenagers raced into the Great Hall where the other professors were busy collecting and shushing the other pupils – but to no avail. It seemed that nearly all the inhabitants of the castle were already here and from the dais where the teacher's table was placed, McGonagall shouted orders. Malfoy stopped and looked around at the chaos. "You'd think you're on a ship, facing a coming storm."

Hermione had to agree. The whole school seemed in a frantic state. Following Draco, they both headed towards the headmistress, passing the Gryffindor table on their way.

"Hermione!"

Harry jumped from his seat the moment he saw his friend. Ron, who sat beside him, also rose. Both boys were instantly beside the girl, wearing worried expressions. "Hermione, Kreacher told me that you…"

"I'm well, Harry," she interrupted him in unmistakeable haste.

"But, he said you were attacked by a werewolf?" Potter replied, his green eyes wide.

"Yeah – and that you were rescued by _him_!" Ron nodded toward Malfoy, who continued toward the front without looking back or waiting for his partner.

Hermione sighed. "Yes to both." She caught the horror stricken looks on her friends and raised both hands. "Later, guys, I have to go to McGonagall." She turned to catch up with Draco, but Harry held her back. "Are you hurt? How does happen that _Malfoy_ of all people "

"Really, Harry, this is not the time to talk about it. I'm well thanks to Malfoy. More later!"

She started to run after Draco and managed to close the distance as he approached the headmistress. Harry and Ron stared at each other, unbelievingly. Ginny reached them, just at that moment, out of breath, and looked from one to the other. "What happened? You look like you've seen a ghost for the first time in your lives."

"Well, something nearly as startling," her brother murmured and sat down again. He couldn't wait for the moment when Hermione would tell them the whole story.

At the front, McGonagall waved away Head Students' apologies. Truthfully, she hadn't expected them to be there that quickly, seeing as they were the last to be summoned. Giving orders as to how she wished the Prefects to be lined up, she let everything else in the hands of the two young enemies. Setting the tip of her wand to her throat, she spoke, "_Sonorus!"_ and with her magically amplified voice, was soon able to get the buzzing beehive to grow quiet.

Most of the pupils had settled, and their headmistress reminded them again what she expected from them. Then she looked as if she were going to address the Prefects, among them Ginny, but she couldn't yet find one reason to scold them and nodded toward Hermione and Draco, as Filch appeared at the entrance. "They're coming!" the Squib called and McGonagall waved sharply at the Prefects and Head Students to follow her. Double lined, with Granger and Malfoy in lead, they walked behind Minerva out of the Great Hall and toward the main entrance of Hogwarts – curious and nervous.

The warm summer wind greeted them and the rising sun promised another hot day. The scent of the blooming herbs famous in that part of Scotland perfumed the air and Hermione took a deep breath, smiling. She did love this time of the year – especially away from the city in the landscape around Hogwarts. She didn't realize that her partner was staring at her thoughtfully, before the firsts gasps of their comrades took their attention to the scene before them.

Something that looked like a giant sedan drew toward them in the skies, drawn by eager wings – wings of hawks, it seemed. Dark wood, carved and decorated with gold leaf, reflected the early sun, and sky-blue curtains waved out of the windows, while the screeches of the hawks grew louder. Hagrid, who stepped out behind the Prefects, stood arms akimbo, pursing his lips, wondering what sort of magical creatures he would be put in charge of this year.

Hermione bit her lips and threw a glance at her partner, who seemed to be impressed – unusual for a Malfoy.

The hawks left the heights and circled, descending, crossing the Black Lake and almost to the tree tops at the shore. They were easier to assess now, and the students murmured to each other in amazement. The birds were much larger than others of their kind, their feathers tipped and shimmering gold in the slanting sunlight. Sharp black eyes searched the ground for an appropriate place to land, and Hagrid pushed through the students to aid their arrival. A short man with dark skin drove the sedan from a coachman's seat, holding thin reins in one hand, whistling orders with a small pipe with the other. Clad in something that looked like a long tunic and wearing a talfia – the traditional headgear of Bedouins – he looked as though he'd stepped out of _A Thousand and One Nights_.

Hagrid signalled him toward an area near the front gate, and the hawks pressed their wings near their bodies, which set the sedan into nose dive, only to pull out and skim the ground, slowing down, until the sedan settled gently on the earth. Shaking their feathers the hawks looked around with emotionless eyes and waited patiently.

McGonagall walked down the wide stairs of the entrance toward the sedan, where Hagrid had already greeted the coachman with a loud "Tha' was a landin' fer me taste," before he yanked one door open and bent down to take a closer look. "Welcome ter Hogwarts!" he exclaimed cheerfully, smiling broadly.

A man in his middle years stepped gracefully from of the sedan, looked up at the half giant with deep brown eyes and flashed him a smile. He was tall and wore an Arabic suit made of silvered silk and embroidered with pearls and dark golden cords. Something like a fez, but dark blue instead of red, decorated with astrological symbols, sat on his head over dark, short curly hair. His olive brown skin showed the first lines around the eyes, and a small moustache broadened as he smiled.

"I thank you." His voice was deep and rich, softly accented and voicing here and there small errors in his grammar, like it happened if you speak in a complete foreign language you don't use often. Turning his attention to the approaching headmistress, he placed his palms together in front of his chest and bowed deeply, before he removed his cap as any gentleman in the northern hemisphere would do, took McGonagall's hand and placed a gallant kiss on it. "Minerva McGonagall, I presume. I am glad to finally meet you in person. I am loved our writings to each other – and I am once again to apologize that my second owl did not reach you in time. The silly creature flew to France in place of," he said, referring to something that happened during the summer holidays.

McGonagall, unaccustomed to such cavalier manners, ducked her head in embarrassment. "Thank you Akay, and welcome to Hogwarts. I hope you and your students had a good journey?"

"Oh yes," he nodded, smiling broadly again. "We start as soon as I held the permission to be a part of the new program of Exchange of International Witchcraft and Wizardry." He smiled again. "I wish apology that we did not make it to the first day of your school, but being so far in the north, we took this chance to pause a short stop in Paris for two or three days, visiting this interesting Muggle museum with the pyramid made of glass. I believe to be called the 'Lawvre'."

McGonagall smiled back at him. "Yes, it _is_ impressive what Muggles can do without magic. I trust the visit of Paris went well?"

He nodded. "Oh yes, a fascinating town. 'City of love' do they call it, and I have agreement with them. Such flair, such warmth in the air, such beauty…" He shrugged most charmingly. "You see, I am enthused." His gaze roamed over the high and mighty walls of Hogwarts and pursed his lips. "And I am still." Then he cleared his throat and turned towards the sedan. "I may introduce you my students?"

As if given a signal, a girl appeared at the door of the sedan. She wasn't tall but slender and moved with the grace of an experienced dancer. The long black hair swung around her heart-shaped face, accented with full lips and high cheek bones. But the most impressive thing about her was her eyes. They were a strangely intense emerald green with golden specks in them, enhanced by gold eye liner, bringing to mind cat's eyes. When she smiled, snow white teeth contrasted deliciously against the dark, nearly black skin. She wore loose trousers and a knee length tunica, covered by the traditional djellabah (or jellabiya), a loose-fitting hood in gold with red pearls at the seams, giving her an even more exotic appearance. Her feet, clad in golden thongs, gently caressed the grass as she stepped down. She then bowed deeply before Professor McGonagall. "Neriman Sahid from the house Obest. She is one of our most talented students in Defending Against the Dark Arts, and a very good hand when attending magical animals."

Another girl appeared, slightly taller than Neriman, with café latté skin quite similar to those from the northern climes when wearing a golden tan. She wore the same style clothing as Neriman, but in green with red embroidery, and her dark hair was pinned up in a wild bunch, giving her pretty face a more girlish expression. "I am introducing to you Layla Moawad from the house Sebak. She is our best student in Potions and Wizarding History we ever pleased to teach." The girl also bowed deeply before the Professor and joined her school mate, who had stepped aside.

"And these two gentlemen are Edis Shawky from the house Inpu and Abdel Fathalla from Uraenus," Professor Abdelghani completed the introductions, while two young men emerged. The first was tall and dark skinned as Neriman, and wearing the school outfit with black with silver decorations. It seemed as if a piece of the night had manifested in a living person. He was quite handsome with short, black hair and his fine sharp features. What caught everyone's attention immediately were his amber golden eyes, like the golden eyes of a panther. They shone as if on fire and his smile was almost majestic.

The second boy was a couple inches taller than Edis and wore a suit of silver with green embroideries. His eyes were black as night, contrasting with his lighter skin. His hair was shoulder length and a soft brown, unusual for the people of his region. With a appealing smile, he closed the distance to his three comrades. McGonagall bid them all welcome and led them straight to the main entrance, while Hagrid turned towards the coachman, eager to learn more about the large hawks.

The four Egyptian students were very conscious of the curious stares of their new schoolmates, and hid their own apprehension behind soft smiles. McGonagall beckoned her Head Students to her side.

"Akay, these are our Head Students, Miss Hermione Granger from Gryffindor and Mr. Draco Malfoy from Slytherin. If you or your companions have any questions about the castle's routine or their classes, our traditions and so on, they will be pleased to help you."

Draco's eyes slid to Neriman, and he suppressed a grin. Yes, he most definitely would _love_ to assist this girl with anything ... at ... all. Usually darker females weren't his favourite, but in this case, he could make an exception. She really was a vision –

He stiffened as she met his glance_. For just a moment he thought he knew her eyes, as if he had looked into these green depths before, but he couldn't remember when. Or where. He felt the blood rushing into his cheeks as her look grew more intense, and he tried to look away, but found himself unable to do so. It was as if he were placed under a spell she held his eyes, fixed with hers._ For those few seconds, he felt an unfamiliar and unnerving pressure in his head. Instinctively he raised his inner mental shield, exactly as his Aunt Bellatrix had taught him two years ago, and saw the Egyptian girl lifting one sculpted brow in surprise, then she looked away – finally –with a slightly amused expression, and toward Hermione, who had watched the episode with a growing interest.

Neriman flicked a smile at her, but in her green eyes danced a curious joy and new understanding. Hermione's eyes widened. Never before had she felt anything like this with a stranger before. She simply knew that this foreign girl was on her side, and for length of a twinkling of an eye, she was sure she knew Neriman from somewhere. There was something familiar about her, oddly calming and peaceful, and the Gryffindor felt herself returning the smile.

After the new students were introduced to the Head Girl and Boy, then to the Prefects, Professor McGonagall led them into the castle, straight into the Great Hall. Hermione, condemned for the rest of the year to walk beside Malfoy at every official social gathering, threw him glare from under her long lashes. "A bit more composure," she whispered under her breath and caught his perplexed expression.

"Whatever do you mean?" he murmured, his face a cool mask.

"Your eyes were on stalks!" Hermione hissed, and gaped as he flashed one of his infamous grins that always infuriated her.

"Jealous, Granger?"

"_What_?" she nearly squeaked, and looked down as she realized that she was drawing attention from the guests.

"You already had an eye-full of me this morning, so do not begrudge me the same of a beautiful girl."

His voice was only a murmur, and Hermione matched his tone as she grumbled, "Remind me later to visit Madame Pomfrey." His head turned toward her and she added sweetly, "I must ask her for a potion, because you have certainly lost your mind!"

His grin broadened, and as he caught the glare from McGonagall, he said a little bit louder: "Don't worry, sweetheart, I'm fine."

"Obviously not!" she said through clenched teeth. She noticed that some of the Prefects – among them Ginny – were looking at them, clearly puzzled. Glaring at him – the nerve of that boy! – she turned her attention to the four oriental teenagers. She couldn't help herself but winked at Neriman, who winked in return.

Akay had watched the last little interaction between Draco and Hermione, and smiled at them, remarking to the headmistress, "It is pleasing when the Head Students go along so well." So why the Head Girl suddenly coughed as if choked, and the tall silver-blond young man at her side gave him a horrified look was a riddle to him.

But this would change soon.

TBC…

_Well, there they are. And as you certainly assume, they will bring a fresh, but also strange wind to Hogwarts. In the next chapter the first odd things will start – mysterious things concerning Neriman, you'll meet Philip again and Draco gets a scaring message from home, which will prove that even after Voldemort's death the danger isn't over. Oh, and there will be Narcissa Malfoy, too – not in person, but… Well, just wait for the next chapter._

_Have a nice day,_

_Until soon (and please review),_

_Yours Lywhn_


	7. In The Beginning

_Dear Readers,_

_I'm so sorry that the next publishing lasted longer than usual, but an unplanned vacation came along and therefore the next chapter had to wait._

In the new chapter you will learn more about the four Egyptian students, the first odd things happen and the Death-Eaters bring themselves in remind in nasty way.

_I hope you will enjoy the new chapi, thank you for the review and I so hope that I will get some more feedbacks (please?)._

_Love_

_Yours Lywhn_

Chapter 6 – In the Beginning

After the new professor of Defence against the Dark Arts and his four students had been introduced, everyone returned to the great hall for breakfast. In honour of their much-anticipated arrival, everyone's first class was cancelled. As soon as the Egyptian students were sorted in their host-houses, the noise of excited talking was nearly deafening. Neriman would stay with Gryffindor (of course). This choice was greeted with loud applause and smiles all around, making her feel most welcome, as if she had been a part of their house for years. The same hearty welcome met Edis in Ravenclaw and Layla in Hufflepuff, while Abdel was assigned to the house of Slytherin and soon found himself in deep conversation with Malfoy, in whose cool, logical and determined mind he recognized a familiar soul.

Neriman had taken a seat opposite Hermione, and nodded a greeting at the others. Ginny grinned as the newcomer suddenly realized that the boy next to her with the unruly black hair and round spectacles had a lightning-shaped scar at his forehead ...

"You- you are…" she began breathlessly, and Harry ducked his head, still uncomfortable with the unwelcome notoriety.

"Yes, hi, but please, no fuss," he mumbled, smiling crookedly at her. "This year I'm just a student."

"He shaysh he'sh hab enough 'ttenshion for she resht of hish life," Ron nodded, mouth so full you almost couldn't understand him, while he reached for his pumpkin-juice, ignoring Hermione's stern gaze.

"Your name is even well known among our people, Harry Potter. I am glad to be in the same house as you." Neriman's eyes were wide. She noticed the emblem on the robes of the others and chuckled. "Well, it could not have been otherwise. It was destined for me to come into this house of Hogwarts. After all, our device is also the so called 'king of beasts,' even if they are different genders."

"We'd heard that," commented Hermione. "Professor McGonagall gave us a crash-course about your school. I swear, my head was buzzing afterwards."

Neriman laughed – a full rich sound. "Fear not. I had the same difficulties with your names here in Britain!"

Ginny started to ask, "Tell me, have you ever-"

Harry wasn't listening, but turned to his friend, his voice urgent and low. "Hermione, you have to tell us, what happened to you and Malfoy and the werewolf last night?"

Granger sighed and recounted the story quickly. Ginny and Neriman had turned their full attention to the Head Girl, as did the other students around the three. "... and then Hagrid led us back to Hogwarts," Hermione ended her report and took in the wide eyes of her friends. "Don't look so shocked. Everything turned out all right, except the fact that I now owe _Malfoy_ my life!"

Ginny blinked and exchanged a glance with Ron and Harry, before she whispered: "Ewww!"

Hermione sighed. "Exactly!"

Harry looked around. "Do you think ... could it have been Greyback?" he asked and Ron's eyes went wide like saucers.

"_What_?" Their ugly run-in with this werewolf turned Death-Eater was still quite fresh in all their minds.

Hermione pursed her lips. "I don't know. Hagrid and the others think that the one that attacked Malfoy and me was a Greyback's victim. It seems this beast has been in the Hogwarts and Hogsmeade area for some time now. Hagrid mumbled something about 'for months'."

Ginny rubbed her chin. "It's certainly possible. They're still searching for Greyback. We all read about it. Maybe he's hiding here, hoping for revenge."

"Who is this Greyback?" Neriman's soft accent interrupted their musing, so Ginny quickly filled her in. The Egyptian girl tilted her head as she listened, reminding them all of a wary cat. "If he really is an older werewolf, enthusiastically embracing the curse bestowed on him, then he is far more dangerous than a fledgling."

"True, but some of those he has infected, like Remus, are bad enough," Hermione groaned, before she looked unhappily down at her plate. "Why did it have to be Malfoy who came to the rescue?" she sighed as Ginny wrapped an arm around her shoulders, commiserating.

"This Malfoy of whom you speak is the Head Boy, is he not?" Neriman asked, throwing a glance over her shoulder at the young man who was still conversing with Abdel. As the others nodded, a bewildered expression appeared on her black, fine face; her intense green eyes laid on Hermione. "But I thought you two were… well… I thought…"

"Were what?" Hermione inquired, frowning.

"Well, I thought that you might be jealous as we walked toward the school. That was when he looked at me and he called you by a pet-name during our walk," Neriman replied hesitantly.

Ron sputtered into his juice. "Jealous? WHAT pet-name?" He looked at Hermione.

She sighed, making a face. "That was just one of his many techniques for irritating the hell out of me. We have a ... um ... a history, he and I," Hermione explained distastefully.

To their surprise, Neriman started to laugh. "As you say, he did protect you last night. Perhaps that counts for something."

Hermione shook her head. "He's already been infuriating twice this morning – and the day hasn't even begun!"

Harry grinned in spite of himself, and glanced at Ron. "Even so, Hermione, I think, we ought to thank him."

"What? Thank the Ferret? Are you daft?" Ronald was still in shock from the pet name remark.

Neriman raised an eyebrow. "'Ferret'?"

Potter chuckled. "Oh, that's an interesting story, called 'The amazing bouncing ferret'. Do you want to hear it?"

The breakfast hour flew, and by nine o'clock, the easy life was coming to an end, as McGonagall shooed them all to their classrooms.

The school year had now well and truly begun.

Harry had no opportunity to thank the Head Boy for what he'd done the night before, because Gryffindors and Slytherins had no classes together, and he didn't want to broadcast the danger afoot around the castle in front of the others, nor to embarrass himself or Malfoy. His enemy would surely twist his words to make it sound as if he were being manipulated by the "boy who lived," and Harry wanted to avoid the sarcasm. The next chance he got would be Thursday during DADA, and Harry would take the time to think very carefully about the words he intended use.

Hermione, on the other hand, was unable to avoid her unwilling rescuer, because the first meeting with the Prefects took place that afternoon. Sitting at opposite ends of the table, taking turns in a business-like manner, the Head Students and the Prefects worked out the schedule for patrol. They also hammered out the dates for Quidditch practice. The Quidditch field was booked every weekend and many evenings for the different houses, the first weekends being the most diligently negotiated, because the first match – Hufflepuff against Slytherin – would be in four weeks, at the end of September.

Professor Slughorn joined the students before they adjourned, inviting Ginny and Hermione to his first little get-together to be held the next Saturday. Horace Slughorn was a collector of influential friends, and had begun with students many years before. The group was known among the students as the "Slug Club" (though not to his face.) It was something of a dubious honour to be invited to his little dinner parties. The four Egyptian students would, of course, be invited, for they were not only guests at the school, but brilliant minds in their own right.

And now, at last, Draco, too, was warmly invited. Clapping the young man on the shoulder, the Potions master and Head of Slytherin-house told him how proud he was of him for rescuing a first year and the Head Girl. When he left, Malfoy was a bright red, avoiding the incredulous glances of the Slytherin's Prefects. He knew that the news of what he'd done last night would be like feathers in the wind, and that most of his fellow students would interpret his actions in an entirely different light than the teachers. He was doomed!

Draco was the first to leave, and vanished so quickly up the stairs that no one could stop him and ask him about this new development. Hermione, _almost_ sympathetic, was heading to the Gryffindor common room to study. Picking-up Crookshanks from her dorm, she packed her bag with everything she would need for her assignments. But she never made it, for as she walked toward the familiar tower, she met a lackluster and unhappy Phillip McLally on the fourth floor, carrying more books than Hermione usually did.

"Hi, Phillip, feeling better today?" she asked.

The boy, startled, looking up at her with sad eyes up, recognized her and bit his lips. "Hallo, Miss Granger," he greeted her shyly.

"My name is Hermione. You don't have to call me 'Miss. Granger'. I'm a student like you – I've only been here a few more years." She pointed at the books. "Are you going to read them all?"

The boy shook his head. "No, Mi - uh … Hermione. I have to take them back to the library for Professor McGonagall."

She had thought as much. "Detention?" she asked, and the boy nodded and sighed heavily. She put a hand on his shoulder. "But how are you? Have you recovered from your adventure?"

Phillip slowly nodded. "I'm okay. I've only gotten a two month Detention. Every Professor can require my help during the free period in the afternoon or – if I have an afternoon class – in the evening." He lowered his glance. "I know it was a mistake to run away, but…" He bit his lip again. "My Dad died last year during the war. He tried to protect a little Muggle girl from some Death-Eaters, but they killed her then tortured him. He was still alive when our friends found him and brought him home, but he died in the following night. My mum had a baby only five months ago and I promised Dad that I would look after them." He looked around. "But as long as I'm here at school, I can't keep my promise and so … I tried to go home."

"I understand your dilemma, Phillip," Hermione responded gently, as the small boy's hand crept toward Crookshanks, who glared warily at him. "But we all must go to school after our eleventh birthday. I'm sure your Dad wanted you to attend Hogwarts and-" She took a deep breath. "Two month's detention seems a bit much!" she stated suddenly.

Phillip grimaced. "Professor McGonagall said it's because I put others in danger and-"

"Why, for pity's sake, did you run into the Forbidden Forest?" Hermione interrupted him, shaking her head. "All new students are told about the danger. So why…?

"I-I-I didn't know that the lake was next to the Forbidden Forest! I only saw trees and then there was suddenly this howl and…" He swallowed. "I tried to get into the boathouse, where they put the boats after we got to Hogwarts, but it was locked. So I tried to go around the lake to get to the train station."

Hermione snorted. "The boathouse is always locked. And, even if you had managed to reach the station, you would have been disappointed. The Hogwarts Express only comes here when it's required." She pursed her lips, thinking quickly. Detention was the usual punishment and he could call himself lucky that he wasn't expelled, but she knew that neither Dumbledore nor McGonagall would send a first year home for his first mistake. Still, the additional work could only provoke more homesickness in the small boy. And she couldn't stand to see him so miserable. She remembered very well how difficult it had been for her during her first year. She'd buried herself in her schoolwork until Harry and Ron became friends. "Phillip, what do you like to do the most?" she asked, a plan already forming in her mind.

His head came up, and the hint of a smile touched his eyes, "I like animals. Oh, and Quidditch. But I'm still too young to play on the school-team," he added, smile disappearing.

"Well, Harry was made seeker in his first year, but he was the exception because of his instinctive skills as a flyer." She looked down at Crookshanks, who meowed at her as if he wanted to give his opinion in this matter. Then she smiled. "I'll try to get some changes in Detention for you, Phillip. I'll speak to Professor McGonagall. But," she added firmly, seeing his eyes light up, "you have to promise me that you will never do such a foolish thing ever again. If you really want to keep your promise to your father and are going to do the best you can for your mother and the baby, then you have to learn as much as you can and become the best wizard possible."

The boy nodded, his sad expression transforming to one of hope. "I promise. What sort of changes will you ask for?"

"Hm … that's a surprise, and I'm not sure I can pull it off. I'll send you a message as soon as I have any news for you, okay?"

For a moment Hermione thought Phillip would drop the books and fling himself at her in gratitude, but he came to himself and whispered, "Thank you! Thank you so much!" Hermione grinned, tousled his already unruly hair and continued up to the Gryffindor tower, leaving a happier child behind.

Finally reaching the portrait of the Fat Lady, Hermione's heart jumped with excitement and murmuring the password she had learned from Ron – (Phoenix's Sweets, in memoriam to Professor Dumbledore and his love for sweets) – she stepped into the common-room, where she was greeted loudly. Soon surrounded by some of the others, the younger ones waved shyly. It was always embarrassing for her that so many students treated her like a hero.

"Mione!"

Ginny's greeting had to have been heard outside the castle, and the next moment Granger was hugged by a curtain of red, as Ron's sister hugged her, ignoring Crookshanks' protests.

"Finally!" Ginny grinned as she released her friend.

"Good to have you here, Hermione!" Harry smiled, happy to have the girl that was like a sister to him, back in their domain.

"Yeah, you were missed here!" Ron nodded and wrapped one arm around her shoulders, grinning at her.

Hermione sighed with contentment and looked around at the familiar common room, with the high walls and the well-known picture of 'The unicorn and the Lady', a painting from the middle ages that even the Muggles knew of. The curtains were open as well as most of the windows, fresh warm air and sunshine filled the room. The sofas and armchairs were covered with red and golden throws, school-books, parchments and newspapers, while some students were doing their homework, brooding over work she and the others had already learned.

"It's good to be here," Hermione said cheerfully. "You got the schedule for Quidditch practice?" she asked Harry, who beamed at Ginny.

"Yes, a good one. Ginny did well. Our first match is against Ravenclaw in November, and the one against Slytherin is in May. We've plenty of time to practice and beat them again this year!"

"They've decided that Harry has to be the captain again," Ginny whispered, and Harry's ears promptly turned red.

"Super!" Hermione was glad for her friend. Quidditch was something normal, from a time when their worst worries were Snape and the OWLs. Harry loved the game, and playing would help him put aside memories of the war still lodged in his soul. Setting down Crookshanks, she headed toward the sofa her three friends were using, she threw her bag on it and rolled her shoulders. "I swear, one of those days that school bag goes out the window and good riddance."

Ron laughed. "Wow, Hermione, you complaining of too many books? Should we be worried?" He loved the way her chocolate-brown eyes crinkled up when she laughed ...

And she did laugh. "Well, considering that I didn't use the charm like last year to reduce the weight, I-" she cut off, gaping. "_What in the world_…?"

She was watching her ginger tomcat, the old mop that didn't like strangers. In fact it had been nearly a year before he trusted Harry and Ron enough to curl up on their laps, and Hermione had a definite premonition that her pet would seriously wound Malfoy any day now, considering his nasty comments about Crooks, so NEVER before she had witnessed something like this.

Neriman had come down from the girl's dorm, still wearing her native school uniform, and paused on the last step, talking with Wilhelmina Spenks, a seventh year. Behind her two cats waited patiently, looking up at her with their large eyes. And Crookshanks (who, up to this point, ignored strangers simply on principle) froze, wide yellow eyes fixed on the young Egyptian woman, tail pointing straight to the ceiling – the unmistakeable sign of cat-delight. Then, suddenly, with a piercing "MOWR", he trotted to Neriman, eyes still fixed on the girl. The two other cats (that belonged to a fourth and fifth year) grumbled, but allowed his approach.

Neriman interrupted her talk with Wilhelmina the moment she heard the half-Kneazle's greeting and turned around. A smile of welcome, almost of recognition, appeared on her face. She bent over and held one hand out to him. Hermione wanted to warn her – Crookshanks let no stranger touch him – but it was too late. To the surprise of everyone else in the room, the tomcat shoved his head into the girl's outstretched hand, and as soon as Neriman crouched down, he jumped on her lap, purring loud enough to vibrate your bones. He pressed himself into her arms, rubbed his head against her chin and closed his eyes, his whole ugly cranky little face now almost beaming. The noise level across the common room fell off, and those who'd known the tomcat for several years gaped at the scene, while Hermione tried to make sense of what she was seeing.

Ron cleared his throat. "What did you give him, Mione?" he asked. "Did you try that Be-Charming Charm?"

Hermione could only shrug helplessly and look on as Neriman rose, carrying Crookshanks in her arms. The cat had melted into the girl, watching her with huge adoring eyes, while the two other cats did figure eights around her legs. The Egyptian girl smiled sheepishly when she noticed she was the centre of attention. "Well … I love cats," she shrugged. "He is part Kneazle, is he not?" she addressed Hermione, who nodded – mute with surprise. Neriman looked straight into Crookshanks' eyes. "Such a lovely boy," she whispered and promptly the tomcat purred even louder rubbed his head against her chin.

"It's almost as if he's flirting!" one of the younger boys joked, and the others started to laugh.

"Crooks, you're fickle!" Hermione murmured with a half-smile. She shook her head. "Amazing! I've never seen him do this before."

Neriman moved toward Hermione, the other two cats like living shadows. "Animals are feeling when someone likes them. It is like a magical attraction," she replied with a sweet smile, and sat down in a vacant armchair. "I hope you don't mind." She gestured toward the Half-Kneazle, while the other two curled up on her feet.

Hermione shook her head, and soon the common-room was back to its usual chatter, while the four friends and their oriental guest discussed the new Potions book and their first homework in Ancient Runes. That class would prove difficult for their guests, since Runes were practically unknown in their school (they had learned hieroglyphics).

Crookshanks remained planted on Neriman's lap. As dinnertime came, it was almost impossible to remove him from the girl. (Have you ever tried to move a cat that didn't want to be moved?) Hermione finally pried him away, depositing him in her former dorm as she closed the door. "Sorry, but you can't come with us!" she told him through the door, as the tomcat started to whine. "Supernatural attraction! I'll have to look that up in the library!" she moaned as she went down to join the others.

The Great Hall was full when they arrived and from every table you could hear discussions about the new schedules. Two of the third years had bandages around their fingers, souvenirs of Hagrid's _Monster Book of Monsters_ for his Care of Magical Creatures class. The book was animated, and it came with fur and teeth and a hostile attitude, only allowing itself to be opened when you stroked its spine.

Dinner was pleasant, even if Hermione wondered yet again how Ron could eat so much without becoming sick. Afterwards, she returned with the others to the Gryffindor-tower, where she visited with her friends and did homework until past ten. By that hour, only the Prefects and the Head-Students were allowed to be out of their dorms. Sighing, Hermione finally picked up Crookshanks, who was still acting as though he were carrying a grudge for her earlier treatment of him. She then made her way back to the domain she was sharing with Malfoy. Greeting several ghosts she passed, she reached the entrance to the Head Students' dormitory, gave the still affronted knight the password (including an apology for the rude behaviour of that Slytherin) and stepped through the portrait hole into their common room.

The first thing she saw was the silver-blond head of Draco Malfoy, who was sitting on his sofa and was studying some notes and books, wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans, both in black. He looked up as he heard her, frowning. "About time! I'm not about to do all of this paperwork alone," he snapped, gesturing toward a heap of parchments which were in front of him on the table.

"And a bright good evening to you, too, Mr. Malfoy!" Hermione replied with only a hint of sarcasm, set Crooks down (immediately the animal vanished upstairs, not even glancing at the girl) and threw her bag on her ottoman. "You did understand when Professor McGonagall reminded us that it is not due until Saturday, didn't you?"

The look in the grey eyes was irritation. "We have Quidditch practice Saturday. And I'd rather have this bloody report done before the rest of our work piled up." He shoved a parchment over the table and for a moment Hermione could see the fading tattoo of a sharp-fanged skull with a snake sliding out of the mouth on the inner side of his left arm.

Hermione recognized it. Indeed, the whole wizarding world recognized it: the Dark Mark, worn by followers of the Dark Lord. So, Harry had been right when he guessed that the Slytherin had been branded in his sixth year. She hadn't believed him when he insisted that had to be it. Draco had only been sixteen, and she thought it impossible for a boy his age to be a real Death-Eater, but the proof was there on his left fore-arm. Now, after its creator's demise, it was little more than a fading grey outline, but it would brand him for the rest of his life, a reminder to anyone who saw it of his sinister past.

"These are the notes of the patrol schedule I took during the meeting," Draco's voice interrupted her thoughts. It was obvious that he hadn't seen her staring. "Copy them neatly so that we can duplicate and issue them. Slughorn wants a copy tomorrow."

Hermione crossed her arms, forcing away thoughts of the Dark Mark. _That was then, this is now_. She knew he had never committed anything like murder nor anything considered by their community as unforgiveable. She made the effort to focus on what he was saying and frowned. Was Malfoy really that eager to prove himself that he was working harder than she? Possibly. That could be the answer for his unusual assumption of responsibility. But one thing she had to get straight with him: she would NOT take orders from him!

"Ever heard of the magic word that starts with a 'p'?" she inquired.

He lifted a brow. "Concerning you? 'Prude' comes to mind!" he suggested and smirked as she turned red.

"If that schedule is so urgent, why didn't you start with it?" she retorted, ignoring his comment.

"Because I also have duties as the Quidditch captain of my house and the practice schedule is as important as this one!" he gestured impatiently toward the notes.

"They made you captain again?" Hermione asked, disbelieving, still smarting from his remark. "I thought your own house turned its back on you." She knew she hit a nerve when his face grew hard.

"My latest offence was saving the miserable life of a Muggle-born." His tone was hard, then he continued conversationally, "The only possible substitute for me is pathetic. They all know it. And since we want to win again this year-"

"The only reason Slytherin-house won last year was because the Carrows and Snape had the reigns in their hands at Hogwarts, and no one dared to get on their hit list, not even by winning a Quidditch-game!" Granger snapped, her ire roused now, but Draco went on as if he didn't hear her:

"- they made me captain, of course." He leaned backwards, watching her. "What about Gryffindor? Certainly they'll ask the Wonder-Boy to lead them again."

"The best player should be captain, and so, yes, Harry is the captain again." Her voice was cold again. _Oh dear, that smirk is broadening again, what now?_

"The best, you say? So you admit that I must be the best Quidditch player in Slytherin? Thanks, Granger. That's the second time you complimented me. Keep it up and I'll start to believe that all this hostility is just an act, and that you're secretly in love with me."

Hermione stared at him, nostrils flaring, unable to speak_. How DARE he …?_ She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm her flaring temper and balled her fists. "I think I've told you before that, in my opinion, you're no more than a spoiled, cowardly brat, Malfoy. And I can't stand boys who hop from one girlfriend to another, never staying long enough to learn the simplest things about them. Even Pansy figured that out in her little pea brain."

The pale face had turned pink by now, eyes glittering dangerously. "Suppose I was a coward last night, wasn't I? And I was too spoiled to hold you while you cried your eyes out. And be glad you didn't encounter Pansy lately, as she was trying to become a Death Eater as well, Granger, and I'm certain she would have hexed you into the next century, given the chance. It's not my fault that the most girls find me irresistible, and I am only human, so why disappoint them?"

"Disappoint them, by using them for your pleasure and dropping them like old shoes afterwards?" Hermione tossed her head, anger ignited. "You're a pig, Malfoy! So full of yourself you can't even see anyone else unless you want to use them. And about last night, I wondered when you'd start to boast about it like-"

"You started it, Granger, so don't complain about a return volley!" he snapped, balling his fists, too, before he uncurled them and pointed to the parchment. "Get to work."

"I don't take orders from you, Ferret-Boy! If you promised Slughorn the schedule for tomorrow just to prove your shiny self to him, then it is up to you to do the extra work!"

He rose with one swift movement. "You WILL do your share in this job, Granger, or-" He stopped as tapping was heard at one of the windows. Like all wizards and witches, the two knew immediately it was an owl. Both glared at each other, but Draco commanded with an arrogant gesture: "Open the window!"

Hermione looked at him, exasperated. "Again, I AM NOT your servant. If you want to know for whom the owl has come, you'll have to move your high-born derriere and let the bird in by yourself."

The tapping grew louder, accompanied by an impatient hooting. Draco frowned. He knew the bird's voice. He snorted in her direction he passed her, and Hermione sighed, satisfied she'd made her point. She was surprised to see that his feet were bare. She'd never thought of him as ever being casual enough to be without shoes outside of bed and bathroom.

Still fuming, Draco strode to the window, yanking it open. An eagle-owl, beautiful marked, glided into the common room, landed on the green sofa, eying the Head Boy with large, intelligent eyes. Holding out its leg to Draco, the owl waited as the young man unfastened the letter from its leg, then and closed its eyes as Malfoy patted it briefly, and tossed it an owl treat. He turned away and opened the letter.

Hermione, who avoided prying into other's private affairs, bent down to collect her bag and was on her way toward her dorm. She threw one more irritated glance at her partner. What she saw made her stop.

His usually white marble face was the colour of old porridge. His eyes were wide, horrified, and his hands trembled, actually making the expensive paper rattle. Something was terribly wrong!

"Malfoy?" she asked tentatively, her anger disappearing.

He didn't answer, but started to reread the letter, swallowing visibly. He pressed his lips into a thin line, and closed his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. When they opened again, they darted through the room, as if searching for something.

Whatever news he'd gotten was none of her business. She knew that. She knew that she shouldn't care, retreat to her room, let him alone. But seeing the arrogant young man crumbling into himself nailed her feet to the floor. No one should be alone when facing whatever catastrophe was in that letter. She didn't have it in her to watch someone suffering – even if he was was the most arrogant jerk in the school. "Draco?" she repeated softly. "What's the matter?" He didn't react and Hermione took a step toward him, her gaze still fixed on his ashen face. "Is there something I can do for you?"

At last he looked at her, hardly seeing the girl, before he simply shook his head. "No, nothing," he whispered, not even upset that he had been caught in a weak moment, or that she had dared to call him by his given name again, or shown him compassion.

Taking another breath, he reached for the owl, which hopped on his arm, and strode toward his dorm – silent and numb, while ice seemed to fill his veins, chilling his body.

Hermione watched him go and resisted the urge to run after him. She wasn't welcome, even if her instinct told her that it would be wrong for him to be alone right this moment. She might dislike him, she may loathe his behaviour, and he could rouse her temper with one elegant sneer, but she didn't like to watch someone in pain. And he was hurting. She knew that.

She heard his door close and sighed. There was nothing she could do just them, except give him space and time. Wondering what news could have shaken him so badly, suspecting it must had to do with his parents, Hermione went upstairs to her room and closed her own door.

But she didn't find sleep easily. She found herself tossing from front to back, side to side, and then starting over again. Crookshanks was annoyed by all the night time activity, and told her so with his claws, but she didn't mind. Suddenly Crooks lifted his head and listened. Hermione felt the shift and sat up. "What is it?" she asked, warily. The tomcat usually slept soundly, but right now the he had picked up his ears and looked at the door. "Did you hear something?" the girl whispered, and in the moonlight on her bed, the piercing eyes of her pet seemed to tell her, 'yes'.

Hermione had learned wariness, a guarded instinct, in the months of being on the run last year. Slipping out of bed and into her robe, she took her wand and tiptoed to the door. She slowly opened it and peeked outside into the dark of the small corridor with the carpet-covered stairs which led down to the common room. And from there she could hear two voices talking – one male, one female. At first she thought Malfoy was simply 'entertaining' another female, but then something caught her ear. She couldn't understand the words, but the tone was … worried, almost frantic, and the other voice was trying to soothe him.

Considering his dreadful expression after he received the letter, she knew that the conversation downstairs had something to do with its substance. Making up her mind, Hermione slipped out of her room and crept noiselessly down the carpeted stairs in her bare feet. She wasn't the type who like to eavesdrop – even if she had been forced to do so in their past struggles to protect those she loved – but she knew that this was important. Something awful had happened, either outside in the wizarding world or within the Malfoy-family (even if she told herself she couldn't care less what had befallen those people.) She felt justified in her actions, that learning about something now was better than a nasty surprise in the near future.

Angling her head to its narrowest presentation, she carefully looked past the doorway and saw the silver-blond head of Draco on one knee in front of the fire-place. Green flames danced over the grate, around the head of a woman in her middle age – also blond like him, with classically beautiful features and wide eyes. Hermione recognized her immediately: Narcissa Malfoy, Draco's mother. And she was communicating with him directly by using the fireplace.

"But how ... how did they get into the mansion?" he was asking. "We have defensive spells all over the area. Father even used charms and hexes that surprised the Ministry!"

"They are too familiar with your father's talents. They anticipated which spells he would use and got around them." Her voice was hoarse, tired, almost exhausted. "Thank heaven for the house-elves and their loyalty. They assisted us. Without them, well ..." She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to.

Draco lowered his head. "I should have been home," he whispered – and she could hear the tremor in his voice. "I should have been there for you. I-"

"No, my precious son, there was nothing you could have done what your father hadn't done already. We knew that several surviving Death-Eaters could be out for revenge. We simply didn't think that they would try to get us, too. And I never thought our cousin would be with them." Narcissa took a deep breath. "Draco, I did not send you the letter to worry you, but to tell you what really happened, before you learn the news from the paper. The _Daily Prophet_ will print their version on the front page of tomorrow's edition, and I thought it better that you hear the story from me."

"How is Father doing?" His voice sounded choked.

"They took him to St. Mungo's but only for observation, to have a closer look at the effect of the mixture of spells which hit him." Narcissa Malfoy seemed to grow within the fire, as if she was trying to come nearer to her son. "Do not fear for your father, Draco. He will be fine. The doctors said that they only want to keep him for two or three days, and the injuries are already nearly healed."

Nodding he whispered: "Is there something, anything I can do? Shall I ask the headmistress to be excused for the rest of the week and-"

"NO!" she almost shouted, then calmed. "No, please stay in Hogwarts! You're safe there!"

His head snapped up. "What do you mean, 'I'm safe here'?"

For a moment Narcissa seemed to struggle with her thoughts, until she finally made up her mind and said: "One of them shouted during the attack that they would come after you next, so please – PLEASE, Draco! – promise you that you won't do anything foolish, that you will stay at Hogwarts! The school's barrier will protect you."

There was a brief silence, then she repeated her plea. And finally, the young man gave in. "Alright, since it matters so much to you, then I promise that I'll stay here."

His mother sighed in relief. "Thank you, my darling!" she murmured.

There was an awkward silence, then Draco rubbed his neck. "Are you alone just now? You shouldn't be, if they return -"

"There are several Aurors here to guard the mansion, and the Ministry increased the defences even those bloody bastards will not be able to break down." She was angry enough to curse, Draco noticed with a mixture of worry and amusement. It was rare that his mother used foul language, but he could understand. He relaxed a bit, as she smiled gently at him. "Cheer up, Draco. I'm unhurt, and your father will be alright, too. Don't worry so much. Everything is in order now."

Her tone was soothing, warm. Hermione never could have guessed that the woman could be either. Narcissa Malfoy had always presented arrogance and a frigid disposition, and the Head Girl very well remembered the moment she, Harry and Ron had been brought into the Malfoy Manor, and the lady of the house had been almost beside herself with excitement at the prospect of taking the Dark Lord's worst enemies prisoner. And she didn't interfere as her insane sister Bellatrix tortured Hermione – a classmate of her own son. No, the girl could never have believed that Narcissa Malfoy could show so much love as she was doing right now. Hermione knew that she was witnessing a very rare and private moment that proved that the Malfoys were a family that loved, even if they hid it well.

"The Ministry was able to help you?" She could tell Draco was terrified for his parents.

"Yes, one of the house-elves Disapparated and alarmed the Ministry. The Aurors were here within minutes, and rescued your father from worse injuries." There was a sad but proud smile on her face now. "Your father fought like a berserker against the intruder to keep me safe. He doesn't always show it, but he loves us deeply."

The young man nodded slowly. "I know – even if he hardly ever acts like it." Draco sighed again. "Do you need anything? Is there anything I can do to help?"

Narcissa smiled sadly. "The only thing you can do is to remain where I don't have to worry about your safety." The smile disappeared. "You're looking tired."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Is this your way of sending me to bed, Mother?"

She looked at him tenderly, putting out a hand as if to stroke his cheek. "Yes, sort of." She hesitated. "Good night, dear boy, and don't be upset by what the _Prophet_ reports tomorrow. You know the truth now. We are well – and I will be able to sleep knowing that you're safe and forewarned. Do you have a message for your father?"

A deep sigh escaped him. "Yes, tell him that I'm relieved he'll be alright and that … and could he please contact me as soon as he is out of hospital."

"Send Morgan back to let us know when you're available, Draco, and I am certain he will love to speak with you. Good night, my little prince."

He grumbled something about "Not so little anymore" and his mother chuckled. "I know you're almost a head taller than I now, but you will always be my little boy." She vanished, throwing a kiss, and Draco sat down heavily on the hearthstone, staring into the flames, no longer green. He pulled his knees up, wrapped both arms around them and laid his head on them. He had tried to remain calm while talking with his mother, but in truth he was still shaken. Closing his eyes he bit his lips, knowing that he wouldn't find sleep soon, unaware of the slender figure in the shadows that watched him the whole time.

TBC…


	8. More News

_My dear Readers,_ _I do hope you enjoy the story so far and want to thank-you for the reviews. I'm very happy about them and would love to get some more._ _In this new chapter you will learn more about the new Egyptian teacher Abdelghani, the students learn about the new 'activities' of the Death-Eaters and a small 'historical' event takes place, concerning Harry and Draco – two school-enemies from the begin, but now realizing that with growing-up some new tolerance kicks in._ _I wish you fun,_ _Have a nice day,_ _Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 7 – More news**

The Great Hall buzzed with the voices of the students during breakfast, and soon the air was filled with barely audible susurrus of dozens of owls, bringing the morning post. Hermione, unusually quiet this morning, put a Knut in the little sack on the owl's leg that delivered her copy of the _Daily Prophet_, and reluctantly tucked the paper under the corner of her plate. She knew what today's headline would be, and she didn't dare open the newspaper. It would prove that what she'd overheard was not a bad dream, but real.

As if she needed confirmation. It had been early that morning that she heard McGonagall's voice in the common-room, speaking with Draco in whispers. He'd gone with the headmistress – certainly to learn the details of the assault on his home and his parents. Hermione didn't see him that morning until now, seated near the end of the Slytherin table. In spite of herself, she felt more than a twinge of empathy for Draco. She knew the pain of hurt in your own family. She had paid a high price to keep her family out of danger. Erasing her own non-magical parents' memory of herself, knowing she would become a complete stranger to them, living in another hemisphere, was one of the hardest things she'd ever done. And Hermione endured this for a whole year. Thank Heaven, the Ministry had been able to restore their memories, but she knew that nothing would be the same ever again. There was a crack in their relationship with their daughter, which seemed beyond repair. She had used her ability to save their lives, yes, but still …

The murmurs about pulled her out of her thoughts. She heard the Malfoy name here and there. Other students who also subscribed to the _Prophet_ had unrolled their newspapers and the news of the attack was spreading like wildfire through the Great Hall.

"What?" Harry, opposite her, laid down his fork and hushed Ron, who was talking with Simon, a seventh year Gryffindor.

"What'sa?" Weasley asked, reaching for another sausage.

"Don't you hear it? There was an attack on Malfoy Manor last night." Harry turned toward Hermione, pointing at the still up-rolled newspaper. "If you're not reading it, Hermione, could I have a look, please?"

Hermione bit her bottom lip and stared at the _Daily Prophet_ as if it were a snake, ready to strike. "I-I already know about the attack and…"

Ron, sitting beside her, simply reached over her plate and took the _Prophet_. "May I?" Before she could answer, he had unrolled the paper to the front page, showing the exterior of the manor. There were broken windows, streaks of soot from a fire, and two pictures of the inhabitants – one of Lucius Malfoy bandaged being loaded onto a gurney, and an unkempt Narcissa Malfoy, clothes torn, her normally immaculate hair wild and undone, wringing her hands, a small house-elf stroking her elbow beside her, a frightened expression on its face.

"'_Attack on Malfoy-Manor!'_" Ron read aloud and heads on both sides turned toward him, except Hermione's, who sat poking at her cereal, a frown between her eyebrows.

'_Yesterday evening, Death-Eaters attacked their former associates, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Well-known to the Ministry, some of the loyal worshipers of He-Whose-Name-Shall-Never-Be-Named-Again are still fugitives, and it has long been presumed that they may seek revenge on those who turned their backs on the Dark Lord and his evil ways. 'We expected Greyback and is ilk to seek revenge, but we did not expect them to be as bold or vicious as to attack the Malfoy family, still one of the foremost lineages in our community,' Mr. Afford from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement told the _Prophet._ 'Malfoy Manor was well protected by powerful spells and charms, some put in place by Mr. Malfoy himself, known as a specialist in Defensive charms and one of the most skilled wizards in our country today. Nevertheless, the attackers were able to destroy this protective barrier, invading the manor, setting fire in the dining room and assaulting the family. The alarm was raised by a loyal house-elf, who notified us immediately. Five our best Aurors Apparated into the manor and were able to force the attackers from the premises.'_

Ron looked up. "It seems the rats are eating themselves."

"Ronald!" Hermione said, looking shocked. "That isn't the slightest bit funny!"

Her friend sighed and continued to read aloud:

'_They entered without a sound, we never heard the alarms, and if it not for our servants, we would not have survived until the Aurors came,' Narcissa Malfoy told our reporter, Mr. Archibald Quiller. Even with the swift and courageous response by our Ministry's Aurors, Lucius Malfoy was wounded. He will remain in St. Mungo's, where the doctors will observe him for several days. He was struck by a combination of spells and his condition undiagnosed as the healers made their way to the hospital. The son, Draco Malfoy, attends school at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, and it is assumed that he is also in danger, should he leave the school's grounds. The new headmistress, Professor Minerva McGonagall, has already been briefed, and we expect their security measures to be able to protect young Mr. Malfoy._

Ron looked up again. "As if McGonagall hasn't enough to do without having to keep the ferret safe," he scoffed and Neriman frowned.

"He is a schoolmate, Ronald," she responded. "Even if you are a rivals, you shouldn't talk like that. You have known each other for years, and knowing a schoolmate is in danger should alarm you," she said, her curiosity piqued.

Harry looked surprised, his green eyes met those of the Egyptian girl with some curiosity. "Is there no house rivalry at Ashmounein?"

Her mouth quirked attractively. "Yes, I must admit that we do try to best each other in our house endeavours, but never to the extent that we would not care if one member of another house is threatened."

"You need to understand the background of our relationship with the Malfoys," Ginny said quietly, aware of other ears up and down the table. "Draco's father nearly got me killed by a basilisk, tried to kill Harry, and later tried to deliver him to Voldemort. And Draco has been a thorn in our flesh ever since we met. He insults my family whenever he can, he calls Hermione filthy names, and he'll take any opportunity he can to hurt us. To top that, he brought the Death Eaters into our school. He's hexed two fellow-students-"

"One was me – he actually poisoned me, though that was by accident," Ron cut in, dislike evident on his face.

"Last year, he even took part in the Death Eater's activities," Ginny went on. "And, cruellest of all, he and his parents stood by and watched as Hermione was tortured by an Unforgiveable Curse at their mansion. Later Draco tried to capture Harry to bring him to Voldemort. Why he and his parents are not in Azkaban is beyond me. Perhaps because of his mother, who did not betray Harry to Voldemort during the Battle of Hogwarts. But we still have very little sympathy toward the so-called 'noble house of Malfoy'."

Hermione bit her lip. Somewhat against her will, she _did_ feel some compassion for that bane of her existence. Knowing your parents were in mortal danger was a living hell.

Neriman stared at Ginny, clearly confused, then she blinked. "But, but he has been made Head Boy. There must be a reason for it."

"Yeah, so we can finally say good-bye to Hogwarts with no regrets at the end of this year," Ron said sarcastically, and turned back to the paper.

Hermione sighed, shoving some loose curls behind her ear. "You do remember that he saved my life two nights ago?"

Ron glanced one last time up again, eyes narrowed. "Yeh, well, it's a start. But it doesn't make up for all the other things he did – or those two blocks of cold acid he calls 'parents'." He cleared his throat and continued:

'_The Aurors reported that they recognized three of the Death Eaters before they escaped in the confusion and the fire. One of them was Fenrir Greyback, the second Rabastan Lestrange, brother-in-law to Bellatrix Lestrange, whose terrible deeds are known throughout our community. Mrs. Malfoy, being the sister of Bellatrix Lestrange, expressed shock that a member of her own family attempted would attempt to harm her and her husband. The third attacker, Aurors say, was Walden MacNair, who in earlier times worked for the Ministry. MacNair once claimed that he'd been under the Imperius Curse when He-Whose-Name-Shall-Never-Be-Named-Again began his first bid for power years ago. He was tried and found guilty _in absentia_, as he had been witnessed participating in the dark arts during the last two years. The other five Death Eaters were not identified, but Mrs. Malfoy is certain that she recognized one as Antonin Dolohov, who savagely killed Fabian and Gideon Prewett during the first war. Dolohov is also charged with breaking into the Ministry and participating in the so called 'Battle of the Department of Mysteries'. He was also responsible for the death of Remus Lupin, also a victim of Greyback, but a trusted member of the Order of the Phoenix, former Hogwarts professor, and loyal follower of Albus Dumbledore._

Ron frowned. "Greyback was among them. So he couldn't be the one who attacked you and Malfoy in the Forbidden Forest."

Hermione nodded. "Obviously." She crossed her arms. "And MacNair was with them, too. I really would like to hex him into the next century."

"Hand him over to Hagrid and I'm certain you'd never hear from him again," Harry grinned. "I don't think Hagrid ever forgave him for being so eager to execute Buckbeak – even if it never came to that."

"Who is this Buckbeak?" Neriman asked.

"A hippogriff – one of the less lethal pets he's had since we've known him." The green eyes of the Egyptian girl grew large, while the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione exchanged amused glances. Ron cleared this throat and continued:

'_This incident is of great concern to the Ministry. The safeguards in place for the families who refused to support He-Whose-Name-Shall-Never-Be-Named-Again will be augmented over the coming days, but will it be enough? There isn't a wizarding family that wasn't involved in the Second War and more than a few had a large part in the downfall of the Dark Lord. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement is running short of skilled Aurors. As Mr. Afford told us, young recruits who have finished their studies were already sent into the field in the company of experienced colleagues. Still, there are too few to fulfil all necessary duties._

_We at _the Daily Prophet_ think that the regrettable and outrageous incident at Malfoy Manor will not be the last. As long as there are Death Eaters at large, our community will not be safe. Let us hope that the new Minister of Magic Kingsley__Shacklebolt will prove to be the man we all hope he is, and will find a way to capture the last of the Death Eaters.'_

He folded the newspaper and laid it beside him on the bench, not noticing that most of the students were already leaving the Great Hall. "Well, that is news. Death-Eaters attempting to murder their former associates. Isn't that a friendly little social club?"

"You know our family would be near the top of their list as well, don't you?" Ginny looked sharply at her brother, who grimaced.

"The Ministry will protect your parents and Bill and Fleur, Ron," Harry responded immediately. "And your Mum and Dad are more than capable of defending themselves. Don't forget, your mother even bested Bellatrix."

"And that's the point," Ronald answered thoughtfully. "This Rabastan Lestrange is the brother-in-law to that crazed harpy. The Lestranges are a very proud family, you know, old blood, like the Blacks and the Malfoys. What if that monster tries to get my mom?"

Hermione laid one hand on his arm, then suddenly stiffened, looking around her. "Oh no!" she gasped, noticing they were the last in the hall. The clock told them that they had exactly three minutes to reach the second floor for their first DADA class this year. Hermione squeaked, jumped up, grabbing her bag, screamed to the others to hurry up. Why was she having such trouble being on time?

"I do hope, Professor Abdelghani isn't as strict as Professor McGonagall when it comes to tardiness!" Harry panted, as they ran upstairs.

Neriman was behind him, running beside Ron with a grace that everyone noticed, and was not even breathing deeply when they reached the second floor. "He is fair, but consistent rule-breakers learn to regret it."

The classroom was connected to the professor's office by two curving staircases ascending to a small balcony. They charged through the door at the back of the room, surprisingly, on time. Abdelghani had not yet arrived. Most of the Gryffindors and Slytherins were already there and Hermione saw the silver-blond hair of the other Head in one of the front seats, scanning the new schoolbook, _Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts: Level 7. _He was pale as the night before, dark circles under his eyes. He obviously hadn't slept well, but lack of sleep was something to which he had grown accustomed. Harper, also a seventh year, sat beside him. Others from Slytherin and Gryffindor threw him looks of pity, or spite, or sympathy.

Draco looked up, as the 'Potter-Gang' (as he called them) entered the classroom and for the briefest moment his eyes met Hermione's, but he quickly turned away from the compassion he saw there. She knew his news, after all she got the _Daily Prophet_ on regular basis. But he did NOT want pity from that snippy bookworm! Next moment, his attention was captured by how charming she looked in her uniform, face slightly flushed from her dash class, even the silly white stockings couldn't hide the sleek curves of her calves—

Malfoy shook his head. She. Was. Nothing. Special!

Abdel Fathalla, who had taken his place behind Draco, grinned at Neriman and winked. She rolled her eyes and playfully stuck out her tongue out at him, which made him blow her a kiss.

The interchange was not lost on Ginny and Hermione, who exchanged a look. Were those two a couple? If so, then the house-rivalry in Ashmounein really was more superficial than their own. Of course, interhouse pairings in Hogwarts weren't unknown, considering the short relationship between Harry and Cho from Ravenclaw, or Ginny and Michael Corner (also from Ravenclaw). But still - a pairing of Gryffindor and Slytherin? Unthinkable!

The door to the professor's office closed and an expectant silence fell. Abdelghani descended, wearing an ankle-length tunica in dark brown and gold, his head bare. Only now you could see that his garment was finely and intricately beaded. His black eyes were accented with kohl, in the traditional manner. When he smiled in greeting them, his teeth contrasted sharply with his olive-brown skin, while he moved with a kingly grace.

"Good morning, gentlemen and ladies," he began. "Welcome to the first class of D.A.D.A. this year. Yes, I am aware how you are calling it, and I will admit to shorten such a long title like 'Defence Against the Dark Arts' is something I agree with – as long as you do not forget the core-statement of it." He had reached his desk and looked around, taking in the curious faces of the students, his odd use of the English grammar proved again that it wasn't his mother-tongue. "Some of you I already am knowing, but please excuse if I have a little problem with your names – as I am sure you have with mine, and those of your new schoolmates. So please to write them down on a parchment and set it on the desk in front of you. I do not like to address you wrongly. And for those of you who are thinking that my name is a tongue-twister – I am certain the most of you are thinking this way – I'm fine with you calling me Ghani. I am used to this nickname since I was in your age."

While he arranged his books on his desk, the students all wrote their names to be displayed on their desks, surprised at his easy manner. He continued, "As I have been informed, several of you are repeating your seventh year because of the war of most recent memory. I am thinking perhaps you expect to be bored in the beginning, because you may already have been taught about the most things the others are eager to grade up. To live up everyone's requirement, I agreed with Headmistress McGonagall to change the curriculum somewhat, and to speed up some of the chapters of the seventh year book. I am certainly that the most of you have already experiences no book in the world can teach you. Because of this unique situation, I will assign you special chapters by yourself, and I will answer questions or will help you at each begin of a class. But the chapters which are really useful and necessary for your N.E.W.T.s will be taught in a priority, along with several added spells and charms I am come here to show you, like a charm to slow down poisons, or falls from terrible heights, protection spells for larger subjects, and so on. "

He glanced up from his desk and his black eyes darted over the seventh years. "And I will add another goal to this class, of which I think it will be helpful for the rest of your lives – not only do defend yourself, but also to making things easier in a difficult the situation." He moved in front of his desk and leaned against it, relaxed, a half-smile on his face. "I am sure that everyone in this room has misplaced their own wand at the one or other occasion and this can be fatal for a witch or a wizard under certain situations." He chuckled as several heads ducked in embarrassment, among them Hermione's. "There is no reasoning to be ashamed of this, as misplacing a wand can happen to anyone – or an enemy might have been disarming you. But, gentlemen and ladies, does it mean that you are defenceless afterwards? No."

He was now walking down the rows. "You certainly have been hearing that only the most skilled are able to do magic without a wand. However, there are ways of learning to control of your magic, and to use it even without this favourite tool. One of our most powerful wizards from the past of my own country did learn this skill and did pass it to his students before he died. Of course, you will need time and you will need thorough concentration and much practice to master this, but I can ensure you that, at the end of this year, the most of you in this class will be able to do simple spells without the wand."

Most of the students were staring at him, and the whispering had begun. He smiled. "See it as a kind of xenia I'm bringing from my country for you." He lifted his voice. "Is there someone in this class who has already experiences with doing magic with no wand, or has used it with some success?"

He glanced around and Hermione looked sideways at Draco, eyes meeting for the second time this morning. He stiffened slightly before he gave her a nearly indiscernible shake of his head.

Granger raised her eyebrows. She knew that he was able to do magic without his wand. He never would have mocked with "Skilled wizards and witches can perform magic without one," if he were unable to do it himself. So why not tell? It would be an excellent opportunity to boast ...

She saw him cross his arms, staring at her, and finally she gave him the shallowest of nods. She would accept his decision. His life was screwed-up enough at the moment, and so she would keep her silence. He – almost – looked relieved when he turned back to the teacher.

"No-one?" Abdelghani asked. "No problem. At the end of this our year, you will surprise everyone else as you lay away your wand and summon a glass of water or cause to dance several coffee-cups in the air. But please only empty ones!"

There were a few polite giggles as he returned to his desk. "Alright, students, away with your wands and ready to hear the first lesson!"

Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione had known one other teacher who had made their class time fly by: Professor Remus Lupin. Abdelghani was a completely different person but nevertheless he knew, like Lupin, how to catch his students' full interest, to make the lesson safe, but not boring. Of course, no one had been able to move even a feather without a wand, and the rest of the period produced many red faces – a result of the intense concentration – but still the students had their share of fun, as the Egyptian teacher made their books fly with flapping pages like birds at the end of the lesson.

"Wow, great class!" Ron said enthusiastically, as he and Harry left the room, followed by a thoughtfully Hermione, Ginny and Neriman. "Is he always that interesting?"

Neriman grinned. "Most of the time, yes. He is almost never in a bad mood. Some of the parents lamented his lack of seriousness, but the whole school stood up for him. The board had no choice but to keep him, for his students have the best results in Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Ginny stopped and looked back. "Harry, what are you waiting for?"

"Go ahead, I have something I have to do," he replied, ignoring the grimace of her brother. He hadn't long to wait. Malfoy left the room, stopping when he saw the boy-who-lived leaning at the wall, obviously waiting for him.

"Potter!" he simply greeted, and Harry pushed himself away from the wall.

"Malfoy, a word."

Draco sighed inwardly, shouldered his bag and lifted one brow. He knew what was coming.

"I want to thank you for what you did for Hermione." Even though Harry had carefully chosen the words, it was an awkward moment for them. Being rivals and enemies since the day they'd met didn't make civility any easier.

Shrugging, the Slytherin replied: "I would have done it for anyone else. I'm Head-Boy. It was my responsibility."

Harry's eyes never left Draco's. "We both know that responsibility was never your strong point, but you risked your own neck to save someone you loathe."

A slow smirk crept to Draco's face. "I'm not about to waste a chance to further the reputation of my family, even if it means pulling Granger out of trouble. And, by the way, she owes me now."

The corner of Harry's mouth quirked. "Yeah, the life-debt, I know. But don't forget, Malfoy, you owe me too – twice over."

The grey eyes went large. "_Twice_?" he asked, his voice hollow. He didn't like to be reminded that he lived because of Harry-bloody-Potter. And now he was saying he'd saved him a second time? Impossible! "You flew me out of the fire, but…"

"And who do you think blasted the Death-Eater who was about to kill you afterwards?" Harry asked, cocking his head.

Draco's expression was priceless. Of course he remembered that dreadful moment, as one of the Death Eaters tried to kill him during the Battle of Hogwarts, when he was miraculously rendered harmless. Of course, he hadn't known who his rescuer was. "_YOU?_" he gasped and Harry gave him a grim smile.

"Invisibility-cloak," he commented dryly, enjoying in the shock on the face of the other.

Rubbing his temples, Malfoy closed his eyes and moaned: "I'm so dead!"

Harry nearly laughed. "Not yet, thanks to me!."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "So you're the one who knocked me out?"

Harry's grin widened. "That was Ron. He was … a little irritated about you telling that masked bastard that you were on Voldemort's side."

"I was only trying to stop-" Then Malfoy's face turned pink. "_Weasley_ knocked me out?" he gasped, enraged, seeing his arch-enemy enjoying this way too much. He took a deep breath to calm himself. "Warn that scarecrow that I'll remember that!" he growled, and Harry finally burst out laughing.

"Well, I don't think he'll tremble at the knees, but I will tell him." Harry's laughter vanished, and he lifted a brow. "I heard about what happened yesterday to your parents. Are…"

"Don't pretend you care, Potter. You despise my father and my mother."

"Certainly not enough to see them hexed, and definitely not enough to watch them cursed," Harry interrupted him, his voice even. "I've only seen your mother as a cold-hearted, arrogant woman, Malfoy. But I won't forget that she saved my life. And while we might never be best friends, I do know what it means to fear for the lives of those you love."

Draco glared at him, but the other boy didn't flinch. Draco blinked first, sighing. "First Head-Boy with Granger, then a werewolf, and now St. Potter says 'thank you.' And above all, we - _oh bung it_!" he yelled suddenly, seeing his hall clock. "Transfiguration started two minutes ago!"

Instantly both young men were racing through the castle, robes barely keeping up. Of course, this time they _were_ late. Professor McGonagall turned as Harry yanked the door open and he and Malfoy rushed into the class. "It's so nice of you both to join us, gentlemen!" she said dryly, and both of them had the decency to lower their gazes, murmuring an excuse no-one could catch. Shaking her head, the headmistress waved them to their seats and continued the lesson. Her glare told them that next time there would be consequences.

Transfiguration was even more complicated than their sixth year, and McGonagall promised it would only get harder. Around Christmas, she promised, everyone would be perfect in the Conjuring charms – charms for building things from air – and that those who did not pass the last exam before the N.E.W.T.s would not be allowed into the tests.

Furthermore, there would be an evaluation as to which students had a talent for the Animagus (or Animagi in plural) transformation. She explained that many wizards and witches were unaware of their own dispositions, and their first (mainly accidental) attempts to morph into an animal went horribly wrong – worse than splinching. (This is what happened when only part of you Apparated, leaving the other bits behind, which was alarming but painless and easily corrected.) As a result, the Ministry had enacted the regulation that students in their sixth and seventh years must be tested to see if they had the talent for the Animagi, followed by special training.

They were glad when the class was over, and soon the forenoon passed, as did lunch and the early afternoon. Hermione went to McGonagall's office, the one the headmistress still kept as her personal area, and talked with her about Phillip McLally, outlining the plan she had for him.

"I do think, Professor, that giving Philip some work during his detention that he likes will help him to get over his homesickness, and help him see the necessity of attending school now, even if he wants to help his widowed mother."

The eyes behind the spectacles watched her closely. "Detentions were not in place nor are they given to aid a student's interests and hobbies, Miss Granger, but to serve as a punishment."

The Head-Girl nodded. "I know, Professor, but … I understand Phillip's fears and his being homesick. I know what it is to think you've let your own parents down – and he is only eleven. His father died in front of him. The only reason he's still functioning is the promise he made to him." Hermione lowered her head, thinking. "It seems as if detention with Hagrid, helping him with the animals, would get him out of himself. Animals don't ask questions, and neither does Hagrid. They simply accept who and what you are, which very good medicine."

McGonagall lifted a brow. "We both know that Hagrid does not keep run-of-the-mill creatures."

Hermione giggled, looking up into twinkling eyes. "Yes, he does love anything terrifying, but Phillip will learn to take responsibility not only for his mother and sibling, but also for himself and others."

The headmistress looked at one of her favourite students thoughtfully and finally nodded. "Very well, I will present your proposal to Hagrid. Is there something more you have in mind for Mr. McLally?" She smiled. "Don't look so surprised, Miss Granger. I know you too well."

Hermione swallowed, and continued. "I thought ... I thought perhaps he could lend a hand with the Quidditch equipment in the locker rooms, taking care of the brooms, corralling the bludgers, laundering uniforms, helping Madame Hooch to take care of the field, and so on. He would be out of doors, and would make some friends. He seems to be very lonely." Seeing the raised brow of the Head of her house, the girl added, "This would give him a reason to stay, and he'll do better in class."

It was hard for Minerva not to laugh. _'__Trust Hermione Granger to campaign for a fellow student who had taken her into mortal danger!'_ Sometimes it seemed this girl was too good for this world – even if Hermione could turn into a hellcat if provoked. "And you think that would prevent him from running away again?" she asked, fighting a smile.

The Head-Girl nodded. "He already promised me that he would behave, and I do believe him."

Rubbing her chin, McGonagall slowly nodded. "If you personally are ready to take responsibility for him for the next two months, Miss Granger, then, by all my means, portions of his detention can be changed as you suggested. But!" she continued as Hermione smiled broadly, "I hope you are aware of the ramifications. If he does not stay out of trouble, you will share the consequences. Make this clear to him that your personal welfare is at stake along with his own."

Hermione breathed in deeply. "I'm sure he won't do anything that would get us both into trouble again!" she added and smiled. "Thank you, Professor."

She rose and was almost at the door, when the headmistress' voice called her back. "Miss Granger? You were very willing to give this stranger a second chance, even to negotiate for a beneficial discipline. May I hope that you will do the same for your partner?"

Abruptly the girl turned around to her, pausing, hand on the doorknob. "I know about Draco's problems at home – and not just what the _Prophet_ wrote. He did save my life. It would be unfair to present him with more difficulty just now – as long as he's civil."

McGonagall knew that this was the greatest leniency she could expect from the two stubborn students, and so she nodded. "I'm relieved to hear this. I do NOT want to lecture my Head-Students again." A real smile found its way across her face. "Have a nice afternoon, Miss Granger."

The rest of the week went by rather smoothly after that. Hermione informed Phillip of the news (the boy was delighted by his new duties) and did the schedule for Slughorn, apologizing for the delay when she finally handed it in. But the teacher had, of course, heard of the incident at Malfoy Manor, and merely tutted his understanding. The weather grew warmer still, homework increased until the students of the sixth and seventh years moaned under the weight. The four Egyptian students became more fully integrated into their host-houses day by day. Giving Edis Shawky a wide berth, all the cats of Hogwarts seemed to fall in love with Neriman, 'dogging' her heels whenever possible. Even Mrs. Norris turned into a purring bundle of sweet fluff and nibbled tenderly at the girl's fingers whenever they met, which seemed to rub Filch the wrong way. Neriman quickly acquired the nickname of the Cat-Queen, which made her laugh out loud when she heard it.

Finally Saturday came around, and after breakfast, most of the students were out at the lake, soaking up the warm sun of the late summer. Hermione made arrangements to meet Ginny, Neriman and Wilhelmina, packed her beach-bag – including her favourite book _Hogwarts, a History_ – and was out with the others as soon as she could.

She hadn't seen much of Malfoy lately. She'd slept lightly over the last couple of nights, to hear if his father attempted to contact him, but the nights had been quiet.

Slipping into a dark red swimsuit, white shorts and thongs, and pushing her hair back with sunglasses and a ponytail, she left the castle and walked swiftly to the small beach of the lake that was already filled with students. Choosing a spot in the shade on the hillside under the scattered trees and bushes, she spread out her blanket, rolled a large towel into a pillow and lay down, enjoying the warm air and the quiet about her. From far away in the Quidditch-field, she could hear the shouting of the practicing team and watching fans, and shook her head. She would never understand why so many in wizarding were such huge fans of this sport. Sure, she enjoyed watching, but the mere thought of flying at those heights on a broom, being chased by Bludgers, made her sick.

Soon she saw Ginny, Neriman and Wilhelmina, dressed as she, Neriman wearing a knee-long thin tunic. She waved towards them and soon they were seated by her and all were chattering. Homework was waiting, but even Hermione couldn't bring herself to study inside the castle during this sunny weather. The summer would be over soon and the autumns were long, cold and grey in these Scottish Highlands.

As the sun rose higher, everyone looked for better shade when Harry and Ron joined them, talking about the Slytherins' first Quidditch practice they had just seen – to the dismay of Malfoy and his team. "I tell you, if he doesn't get a better grip on them, they'll be no problem for us at all!" Harry grinned.

"Yeah, the ferret lacks his bite. Seems he's having trouble getting the others to do as he says," Ron nodded, peeking into Hermione's beach-bag for something edible.

Harry cocked his head. "Don't underestimate them, Ron. The Slytherin are always good for pulling aces out of their sleeves."

Ron gave up on finding a snack, and finally really looked at Hermione, and his jaw went slack. When she raised a brow inquiringly, he stuttered: "Uh … you … you're not wearing much."

Hermione sighed, exasperated. "Really?" She looked horror-struck on her bare legs. "Would you look at that – my swimsuit is so short! Tsk, tsk, these new styles are so scandalous …" She shook her head and the others laughed.

Unnoticed by them, two young men were passing – one in Quidditch togs, one wearing light trousers and a loose tunic: Malfoy and Abdel. Draco was sweating and could think of nothing more than the inviting water, while the Egyptian seemed undisturbed by the heat.

Malfoy had stopped, staring at the Gryffindors, and Abdel nearly walked into him. Draco was staring at one person in particular. Unconsciously, his eyes travelled along the long curves of the Head-Girl's legs, past her slim waist and finally over plunging front of her swimsuit, revealing more than it hid. Her skin had bronzed during her time in the sun today, and her dark eyes were sparkling with mirth. Her clear laughter reached out to him, and for the briefest moment his heart stood still. Was this the tight-lipped book-worm he'd always known? For only a moment, he saw not the filthy Mudblood who unnerved everyone with her knowledge, but a young adorable woman.

Abdel, realizing who had caught his comrade's attention, grinned. "She really is a sight to remember," he whispered. "But if I dare to look at her longer, I think Neriman will scratch out my eyes."

His words dragged Draco from his reverie, and he felt heat rushing into his face. Bloody hell, he wasn't twelve anymore! Blushing at his age – and a Malfoy – was laughable! And he would NOT be caught staring at this damn Muggle-born, even if she had legs to kill for!

No. He hadn't stared at her legs. Of course not. They were ugly, thin gams – ugly like the rest of this sorry excuse for a female. And his mouth was only dry because ... because of practice, and the heat, and the clothes. That. Was. All!

"I need a bath," he grumbled and strode toward the beach, away from Abdel's snickers, and his comment: "Of course, who would not?" He peeled off his sweaty uniform as he reached the shore and, wearing only his boxer briefs, plunged into the lake, soon followed by Abdel.

But if he had looked back, he would have could have seen the reason for his discomfort staring after him, while two smooth cheeks turned red …

TBC…

_Well, I think our dear Slytherin must be in a state of shock. Besides the terrifying fact that his parents were in danger, he faced a grateful Harry Potter and even recognized Hermione as an attractive female his pure male sides reacts on. _

_In the next chapter the mysterious shadows of the Forbidden Forest return and will alert our Gryffindor-Queen during her patrol, Draco finds out that he really has no saying in his body's desire concerning a certain bushy-haired witch and there is some danger closing up on them – coming straight to Hogwarts' borders, wearing black and masks…_

_My dear friend Cheetah and I will hurry up with the next update,_

_Until then,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	9. Shadows

_Hi, dear readers,_As almost regular at Mondays here is the next chapter. The first shadows will roam through Hogwarts, Draco finds himself in a personal trouble because his thoughts about his Head-partner are anything but normal for him, and he and Hermione are going to face the first remains of the dark time Voldemort brought over the wizardry world.

_I hope you're going to enjoy the next part._

_Have fun,_

_Yours Lywn_

**Chapter 8 – Shadows**

The weekend flew by like lightning – quick and bright. Their classes were more difficult than they could have imagined, and free periods were jealously guarded times of intense study. The lingering heat didn't make anything easier, and there was no student who didn't groan about too much work and (except the Egyptians) too much sun. Abdelghani was the only one who showed a little mercy and moved their classes outside to the courtyard – not only because of the warm, humid air in the classroom, but to spare the furniture. They were testing defence spells just now, and after a desk and two chairs were reduced to splinters after meeting a wall, the professor thought it wiser to train his students among less vulnerable surroundings.

During their free periods, the Prefects, Hermione and Draco had extra duties. The Prefects were assigned to help the younger students, the Head Boy and Girl had other responsibilities which kept them additionally occupied. Malfoy avoided her whenever he could, and his mood grew foul. Being ignored, taunted or pitied by his own house, and catching the lingering compassion in Granger's eyes made him uneasy and irritated. He, who used to be the Slytherin centre of attention, admired and envied, was now loathed and pitied, a completely new and uncomfortable situation.

Additionally, the danger facing his family hung over him like the sword of Damocles.

His father contacted him a week after the attack, but his reassurances sounded hollow. Lucius' well-crafted sneer had disappeared, and his father had seemed somehow ... uncertain. Had his mother deliberately underplayed the injuries? Were the doctors simply being overcautious? The image of the tall, proud man remained with him, paler than usual, the cut near his hairline still bandaged (the healers were certain there would be no scar). Dark circles under his forget-me-not blue eyes still lingered hot in his memory. The head of the Malfoy family still suffered, and Draco knew his father was very lucky that they had even survived.

On top of that, there was a more immediate crisis that he would not have anticipated in his worst nightmare: he couldn't keep his eye off that ... that ... _female_. After seeing her in that delicious suit, her long golden legs in those shorts, his imagination kept returning him to the lake, and then he'd come to himself, and drag his thoughts back to the present. During the last few days, this scene had played out a thousand times, and each time he repeated that he couldn't believe it, that is wasn't possible because that damn Mudblood meant NOTHING to him!

It was no wonder that his mood grew fouler as the days progressed.

Hermione's feminine sensitivity made her acutely aware of Draco's mood. With some effort, she remained calm around him, ignoring his frequent rude comments. She attempted to offer reassurance. She even attempted conversation with him, but he soon ended each one by rising and leaving, or by snapping at her about wasting his time.

This explosive combination of elements wouldn't have lasted much longer, if not for two incidents which drew their attention to different matters.

The first occurred the beginning of the third week of school, during hall patrol. The schedule that had been agreed on by them and the other Perfects forced Hermione and Draco together once a week, sharing the job with two other seventh years. It was almost midnight and Hermione's thoughts were on the upcoming test in Charms, when she heard rapidly descending steps coming down to the second floor where she was standing. A glance at her watch told her that whoever it was risked losing points for their house. Two fifth-years, from Hufflepuff, if she remembered correctly, nearly ran into her, fear written all over their faces.

"My my, didn't I catch you both out two years ago -?"

The boy and girl skidded to a halt before the Head Girl, not embarrassed but relieved. "Quick, you have to come with us!" the boy – Pascal – whispered, taking her by the wrist, pulling her upstairs. The girl – Brigit – trembled, nodding.

"What's the matter with you?" Hermione hissed. "Don't think your act will prevent me from-"

"Please!" Pascal pleaded. "Please, you have to see this!"

Not believing them for an instant, Hermione followed them up two flights to the fourth floor, and from there straight to another connected wing. It was dark there, only one torch at the top of the stairs, and the air seemed cooler than it ought to be. Pascal inched forward, a terrified Brigit clinging to the back of his shirt. They slowly led her further down the small corridor. Hermione finally had enough. "All right, you two, just tell me what you saw that's so awful, and I'll decide how many hours of detention-"

Pascal simply clapped one hand over her mouth and pointed ahead with the other. "There!" he murmured, while Brigit edged still closer to him, peering around his shoulder, whimpering.

Hermione, shocked into silence, narrowed her eyes and blinked into the darkness. The boy let her go. The light from the torch flame produced a flickering twilight, and it was difficult to see anything, but…

There, something was moving along the wall, moving slowly, floating? no, but somehow… wrong. Extending her wand, Hermione whispered "_Lumos_!" and lifted the lit end higher. Still the darkness seemed to absorb the light. Hermione took a deep breath and stepped away from the two Hufflepuffs, very much aware of their sharp intake of air. Curious and mildly alarmed, she moved toward the image and pursed her lips, seeing only what she expected it to be: shadows.

Shadows that looked somewhat human moved over the wall made of rough stones. Warily she turned and looked around, expecting to see the one making them, but there was nothing.

"Hello?" she called tentatively, her voice sounding loud in the hallway. "Is someone there?"

Silence.

Then, there was the sound of claws on stone, a soft panting.

Hermione's blood froze. _Was it the werewolf? Did it find a way into the castle?_

Then she remembered - it was half moon! No werewolf in the world could transform now! Tightening the grip on her wand, mouth dry, Hermione stepped towards the noises, shield charm on the tip of her tongue. Behind her, the two fifth years watched her soundlessly, then Pascal pulled out his own wand, to be used to help the Head Girl if necessary.

There was definitely the sound of quiet panting down the corridor, now a soft whining. Hermione swallowed her rising fear and turned the corner. For a fraction of a second, she thought she was seeing something on four legs, golden eyes glaring at her, then the darkness devoured the creature. Instantly she flashed on the figure in the Forbidden Forest, when something like an animal had chased away the werewolf. Whatever that had been, it was here – in Hogwarts, only meters away. Collecting her courage, she cleared her throat. "Hold it there!" She wanted to say it calming and authoritatively, but her voice squeaked, barely making it past her lips.

A deep growl answered her, then a snarl, then the sound of galloping feet running away. Without thinking, Hermione chased after it, willing her wand to shine brighter. It had to be the two animals that had saved her life and Malfoy's. But as fast as she ran, the two creatures were quicker and when Hermione finally reached the end of the hallway, there was nothing but an open window. Whirling about, she looked around her, but the hallway was empty. Glaring toward the window, she moved to the opening it and looked outside. Beneath her, one level down, a roof extended, but it was empty except for a black cat gracefully strolling the edge, clearly on a nightly tour.

Shaking her head, Hermione walked back to the two Hufflepuffs.

"Did you see them?" Pascal asked, his voice still wobbly.

"No, not enough for identification," Hermione answered. "Could you give me a description?" As they both tentatively shook their heads, she added: "You were clearly frightened when you ran into me. So you must have had a better look at … whatever it was."

Brigit swallowed. "I-I-I think I saw a kind of … of dog. It - it glared at me and then … then there were those shadows. Like people, but somehow ... not."

"'Somehow not'?" Hermione repeated. "Can you be more specific?"

The two exchanged a glance. "They moved oddly and… and their shapes were… somehow… wrong… animal-like. I can't describe it, but none of it fit together."

Hermione nodded slowly. She'd thought the same thing when she saw the shadows. "Right," she sighed. "I'll keep my eyes open for these things. Now, about you two. What are you doing up and out of your house?" Even in the pale light of the wand, she could see the red in their faces, and Granger rolled her eyes. "You know that I have to report you, don't you?" As their expressions evolved from terrified to embarrassed to crestfallen, she sighed. "All right, five points from Hufflepuff. And next time I catch you, I _will_ report you. Do you both understand?"

She waved away Pascal and Brigit's relieved thanks and gestured to them to follow her. "Come with me, I'll escort you to your dorm – just in case you run into our beloved Head-Boy."

The two smiled weakly, aware, as was the entire student body, of the feud between the two, and grateful to be let off the hook so easily.

"We have to increase the patrol!"

It was the third time Hermione had said this since she and Malfoy had returned to their own common-room.

Draco sighed, tired and unnerved. "Granger, they didn't want detention, and you fell for their scam." He pinched the bridge of his nose and yawned.

"I saw the shadows, too," she replied impatiently. "I heard the growling, the panting, and claws on the stones." She threw her robe over the back of her sofa, a bad habit she was developing. "It was the same as the things we saw in the Forbidden Forest, the very same that scared away that werewolf. And they are here, in the castle!"

He groaned: "You ran after them, you reached a dead end and an open window, right?" The girl nodded, he continued. "There are two possibilities: First you chased some poor cat, since you saw one strolling over the roof below or, second, Peeves played an elaborate prank on you." He glared at her as she snorted, then added, "Third, you've finally lost your meddling encyclopaedic mind!" He tapped his forehead, making her scowl, and he almost grinned. Annoying Granger was a far better pastime than thinking of her legs – which, of course, he never did!

"Are you being deliberately obtuse? You and I were saved by these creatures – the very same ones are now _in the castle_. Hide behind your problems, if you like, but I intend to investigate. Count on it."

Draco grumbled, "What do you know about my problems!" and retreated to his room, slamming the door shut, the portrait complaining of the 'youth of today'.

"And a lovely 'good night' to you too, you jerk!" Hermione shouted, stomping into own room, ignoring Sir Meal's hurt query, "Are you talking to me, young Miss?" Complaining about her partner's blindness, she slammed her own door, which earned her an indignant "Not so hard!" from Lady Hillary.

"And you're sure they weren't running a scam on you?"

Harry's green eyes were sceptical behind his glasses as he looked askance at Hermione, who sighed deeply.

"They were _relieved_ to see me, even though I caught them out of their dorm that late. And I know what I saw," she shook her head, "or what I think I saw, or what I was trying to see but really couldn't, or…" She stopped. "Is this making any sense?" she asked unhappily.

Ron, who also accompanied her on their way to the Charms, grinned. "Nope, for the first time since I've known you, you don't make any sense."

Ginny punched him on the shoulder, and addressed her friend. "Don't listen to him. He's still full of himself because he caught every quaffle that came his way at Quidditch practise yesterday." Shooting a glare at her brother, she continued, "I hate to agree with Malfoy, but maybe it really was a cat."

"Cats don't growl like that – at least not house-cats. And there are no lions in the school, beyond the coat of arms." She pursed her lips. "There was something there! I'm positive!"

"Maybe you're just nervous about your birthday on Friday. Turning nineteen is really a-a-a special thing!" Ron managed to shift the adjective at the last moment, because mentioning to his girlfriend that turning nineteen was hard was beneath even his awkwardness.

Hermione groaned. "Don't remind me. I'd planned to be completing my first year of internship by now, not still wrestling with schoolwork."

Ginny giggled. "Don't tell us you don't enjoy learning at Hogwarts. That would be the biggest lie you've ever told!"

"I do love Hogwarts, of course. And I love to learn, but… snap, nineteen and still in school! I should be out there, doing something useful like … like, working on laws concerning Muggles, or helping the house-elves to gain some status, or the rights of half-giants—" She sighed as she caught the wide grins of her three friends.

"Still upset about the elves?" Ron teased

She bristled. "Of course! And after everything Dobby did for us, even giving his life for us, and seeing how much Kreacher changed after he was given kindness and friendship, it should make you think about my 'Elf-thing', Ron."

He raised his hands. "I give up, Hermione! Just joking."

Sighing an apology and shaking her head, Hermione entered the classroom and greeted Neriman, whom she hadn't seen at breakfast. The Egyptian girl looked half awake, unusually quiet as she sat down between Ginny and Wilhelmina, hiding a yawn.

"Sleeping badly?" Hermione asked sympathetically.

Neriman shrugged. "It happens from time to time. Perhaps the weather is going to change."

But the weather didn't change. It remained unusually warm and humid, and classes were still a torment. Even the teachers were moaning about the weather, remarking that they couldn't remember when a September had felt like this before. While on the southern end of the island, the first thunderstorms started and the entire area cheered at the first rain, the Highlands were a world apart, more like the Caribbean or the Congo.

On Friday, Hermione's birthday, she awoke early because of the heat that even the most powerful charms of McGonagall and Slughorn couldn't hold off. Crookshanks hopped up on her lap and greeted her even more enthusiastically than usual. Hermione suspected that her clever pet knew it was a special day for her.

As she entered the common-room, she saw with surprise that Malfoy was already up, too, clad only in shorts and a T-shirt. He'd had another night of fitful sleep. She could tell by his pale face and the dark circles beneath his eyes. But, unlike his usual morning scowl, he rose from his sofa, put away the book he was reading, and inclined his head toward her. "Happy birthday, Granger."

She looked at him, eyes wide and mouth slack, before a smile ran across her face and sparkled in her eyes. "Thank you, Malfoy, and a good morning to you."

He nodded and an awkward silence hung in the air. He cleared his throat and headed to the bathroom to change for class. "Be seeing you," he mumbled and vanished, leaving an amazed Hermione, who watched him leave.

"Wow, that was weird," she whispered at her pet, before she grinned. "But he wished me happy birthday! It seems the Malfoys do have manners after all!" Crookshanks meowed in (what she could only assume was) agreement.

She advanced to the Gryffindor tower and had barely given the password to the Fat Lady when a laughing Ginny practically dragged her over the threshold, hugging her tightly. Next were more hugs from Harry and Ron. Other Gryffindors congratulated her and the Head-Girl could hardly believe her eyes when she saw the birthday cake in the middle of the table near the fireplace, and all the packages, wrapped in colourful paper.

Laughing, Hermione stepped up to the table started to unwrap out her presents. Her parents had sent their presents to Harry to hide them until today, and with a joyful whoop Granger held one of the newest mobiles available. It even held an integrated radio, music player, and calendar. Hermione knew that the technology for mobile phones was advancing, but until now she hadn't been interested in it. Now, holding one of those newest technological achievements in her hand, she was once again amazed at what Muggles could accomplish without magic.

A small card was attached to the package, written in her mother's neat script, expressing her love and how much they both missed her. Then the note added: _'Your father and I know that our electronics do not work on your school's grounds, but the phone should work when you leave for any reason. If you plan to visit the small village you told us about, send me a message and I'll return the owl with a fully-charged battery, so you can use the phone on your next trip to this wizard-village. Have fun and greet your friends for us – Mom and Dad.'_

"Wow, this is a surprise!" Harry grinned, and Ginny glanced curiously over her friend's shoulder. "Isn't that one of those things that lets you talk to someone far away, without using a fireplace?"

"Yup!" her brother nodded. "You don't even have to yell into it, they understand you if you speak normally, even if they're miles away."

Harry burst out laughing, remembering the day Ron had phoned the Dursleys to speak with him, and screamed at Uncle Vernon, asking to speak to Harry. Harry had heard him from across the room. Harry's uncle had recoiled from the phone, railing about being deaf in that ear for the rest of the day.

Hermione giggled, too, remembering the story, and put the mobile aside and opened the other presents. Ginny had bought her another bottle of 'Sleekeazy's Hair Potion' and a pair of hair combs, glistening silver with pearls. From Harry she got the newest edition of _Wizards in the Middle Ages – a Time-Travel Through History_– a book she had longed for since it was edited, but hadn't found the time to go to the bookstore to buy it. And Ron gave her a game with runes that could be played alone or with others. The game learned the skills of those who handled it, and grew more complicated with every new game.

Of course another group hug was appropriate, and the rest of the Gryffindors joined in, including Neriman, who offered to "keep an eye" on Crookshanks when she was too busy with her duties – an offer Hermione accepted gratefully.

In class, McGonagall and Flitwick also gave their best wishes. Professor Binns, whose mind was always on some kind of history he himself had witnessed when he was still alive, became very melancholy when he learned it was the Head Girl's birthday. He spent the whole class period droning on about his own birthdays, before he died and continued on as a ghost. And because his "life" was quite some time ago, the students (who bothered to listen) learned many amusing details about how birthdays were celebrated in an earlier century.

The day passed quickly, also the weekend as the students again used the lake as an escape from the heat. The fourth week started without any change of the weather in sight. While in the rest of Great Britain, the rivers had risen to flood stage because of the heavy rains, even McGonagall opened her high collar. Madame Sprout spent more time in the greenhouses than the school to care for her plants, and Filch found more to do in the dungeons, where it was cooler –much to the frustration of the Slytherins and the Hufflepuffs, as the entrances to their dorms were also in the dungeons.

Only Hermione was stubborn enough to ignore the lingering heat inside the castle and spent many free hours inside. Not for study, not this time, but to learn more about the strange shadows she had seen. Having read _Hogwarts, a History_ about a dozen times, she knew there was nothing mentioned about living shadows in that book. So, she did the most normal thing for her: she went to the library. There, she spent her time searching for hints of other 'spooky' events like that she'd witnessed, but her beloved books held no answers for her. She also tried to find information about what might be able to chase away werewolves, but again she was disappointed. She learned more about those sad creatures than she'd ever thought possible, but nowhere was there anything about beings able to frighten a werewolf after transformation.

A couple of free hours were finally spent at the lake, together with her friends. Those living shadows hadn't returned since she saw them Tuesday of last week, even though she'd walked through the sleeping school several times during the night, earning sneers from Malfoy and concern from her friends.

It was Friday again. Something else was about to happen that would distract Granger and Malfoy from their feud – and would direct the attention of the Prince of Slytherin to really important matters.

Cirrus clouds began to decorate the sky – the certain sign of a change of weather. Finally! As the humidity approached one hundred percent, everyone able to move sought escape in the cool waters of the lake. Everyone, that is, but Ron. A jinx attempted by two of the fourth-years had gone wrong, and he was in the hospital wing yet again, waiting for his legs to stop jerking and trembling, probably around the middle of the next day. And Harry was somewhere near the Quidditch field, coaching some second-years in their first Quidditch practice. Flying was a great way to beat the heat, but Hermione hated flying.

She broke through the lake's surface and stroked back her wet hair. The water was uncommonly tepid for a Loch in the Highlands but still cool enough to refresh. Ginny rose not far away, as did Neriman. Somewhere several meters ahead a gang of third-years were having a water-fight, and Luna joined them.

"Enough – or I change into a fish," Granger laughed and swam to the shore, her two friends with her.

"You know, this might the last time we can swim this year," Ginny called and all three girls were distracted by a loud cheering and screeching behind them. Turning around they saw two long arms of the giant squid coming out of the water beyond the barrier, splashing several smaller students, catching them up and letting them gently fall back into the water, as if to tease them. Neriman shook her head.

"Did I ever mention that you have some strange inhabitants around your school?" she grinned, pointing toward the tentacles, which would have frightened away even the bravest of all seamen, but belonged to one of the most harmless giant creatures of the magical world.

Hermione giggled. "Yes, once or twice now." They walked ashore, joking with each other when suddenly a fourth year Gryffindor – Gracie Moonley – came running straight to them and stopped, panting. "Neriman, you have to come. Wilhelmina's cat … jumped from the wardrobe and … And we think… it has broken a leg. We want to take it to Hagrid, but Belinda tries to claw and bite anyone who comes near. You're so good with cats that-"

The girl stopped the explanation with a raised hand. "I'm coming. Lead on." She turned around to her two new friends. "Can one of you bring my satchel with you? I have to look at Belinda!"

"Of course," Hermione nodded and Ginny added, "I wanted to visit Ron anyway, so go ahead. We'll meet you back at the common room."

Neriman turned and jogged towards the castle, Gracie vainly trying to keep up with her. The foreign student was simply too fast and Ginny shook her head. "You'd think she was flying." Gathering up their belongings, she told Ginny, "I'll come with you," but Ginny shook her head.

"You know only one person is allowed at a time. Mrs. Pomfrey is really strict when it comes to her orders. I'll tell Ron that you'll visit him before dinner. Enjoy the last warm hours of the year, I have to look after my daft brother who gets between two students jinxing each other." She rolled her eyes. "Sometimes I am really surprised that he managed to make it to his teens."

Hermione smiled, agreeing. She knew that Ron and Ginny teased each other mercilessly, but would have instantly died for one another. She sat down on her blanket and took her wand, drying herself with a charm. Looking one last time back to the skies and at the giant Egyptian hawks flying there, she decided to follow the advice of her best friend. She spread sunscreen on her arms and legs before lying back and closing her eyes – never noticing the eyes watching her.

Draco, Abdel and Graham Pritchard were sitting under one of the willows twenty metres away, also enjoying the outdoors. The young Egyptian and the fifth year talked together in low voices, Abdel relating stories about his home-country, while Draco sat silently. Like the rest of the school population, he relaxed against the broad trunk wishing for cooler days that would certainly come soon. Of course he heard the laughter about him, but he blocked all those noises out, attempting to rest. Through his lashes, he watched the exchange between one of the younger girls coming for Neriman, and then the Weaselette following the two back toward the castle, Hermione remaining on the grass, unaware of his presence.

Draco wanted to look away. He tried to muster enough contempt to generate thoughts of mockery about Granger, but to no avail. He really didn't consciously want to watch this girl, but still his eyes seemed to have a will of their own, taking in the natural, easy movements of her application of the sunscreen. He had watched Pansy performing the same ritual, and every stroke of her fingers had been a kind of provocative invitation, an erotic challenge to do the same to her as she was doing with her own hands. He also remembered that most girls made a big fuss about slathering themselves in front of the boys, but not Granger.

Of course not. She wouldn't waste a thought on seducing anyone, or performing in order to arouse a boy. But her fingers and hands moved with a natural grace over her smooth skin, as if she were taunting every male in sight.

And she even didn't know it!

Draco groaned inwardly, closing his eyes, seeing her figure burned into his eyelids. No, he didn't and would _never_ see anything else in her as a low, dirty Mudblood!

But ...

... to see her in that revealing half-garment, to watch her slender fingers wandering over her long, clean legs, her brown eyes dreamy, and a soft self-deprecating smile on her lips, woke something in him he didn't dare examine any closer ...

_Merlin's beard! Damn those accursed hormones!_ Yes, he hadn't been with a girl for quite some time now, but still to feeling something other than loathing and hatred for that miserable bookworm was unnerving. And then his eyes widened in horror as he realized why he was suddenly so uncomfortable: his lower half had started to stir!

_No! No way she had that kind of influence on him! It was impossible!_ But his body disagreed with him. His loose shorts grew tighter, and with a silent curse he pressed his eyes shut and leaned his head back at the trunk, bumping it against the hard wood. _'Someone knock some sense into me, please!'_

Summoning every memory of their hateful history together, the shame he felt whenever she beat him in class or was the quickest to answer the teachers' questions, or the moment she punched him straight into the face in the third year, of how she looked when her teeth had been hexed and grew all the way to her chin, he calmed down, and when he opened his eyes again, he glanced over at her and saw her as nothing more than a pain in the neck.

_It's this heat! You can go crazy in such weather! _Relieved to feel normal again, he closed his eyes again, listening to Abdel's tales about his country. Somehow the quiet voices allowed his overtired mind to drift away. When Graham and Abdel tried to wake him, he simply grumbled something about: "I'll follow you later," and was sound asleep in seconds. Here, outside of his too-warm room and forgetting all worries, he was at peace and his body and soul collected their toll.

When he finally awoke, the lake was deserted, its surface calm in the twilight. A distant thunder echoed around him, and straightening, he looked up. The lowering sun was nearly buried in the dark clouds rolling toward him. Still no wind, the quiet before the storm. Even the birds had taken to their nests.

He rubbed his eyes, glanced at his watch – a quarter hour until diner – and stretched before he rose. One glance around told him everyone else had gone, and…

Hold a minute. Not completely alone. Over there, twenty metres away, he saw a certain slender figure in a dark-red swim suit lying on a blanket, sound asleep. He grinned. So, Granger would miss dinner. Served her right! Sometimes Miss Perfect wasn't so perfect and those moments were the best, in his opinion.

Brushing grass from his shorts, he turned and stopped as his eyes caught something. Granger was lying on her belly, her head resting on her folded arms. She had fallen asleep and rolled over, revealing her unprotected back to the burning rays of the sun. And it was beginning to show.

Draco hesitated. In years before, he would have shrugged and walked away, laughing about the Mudblood's stupidity. But the war had changed everything, including him. He had learned how quickly things could happen that were impossible to change afterwards. He was raised with the knowledge that his family was one of the most powerful and noblest in the wizarding world, and that anyone could call himself glad if a Malfoy deigned to pay attention to them. But Draco had seen too much within the last two years. He had lived in fear too long for his parents and for himself, proving that he and his family were no exception when it came to pain and death. And he had seen a friend – Vincent Crabbe – die because of this idiot's foolishness. Nothing was the same anymore, and even if old habits died hard, he felt a strange responsibility for a fellow student. Even for the Muggle-born.

And Granger held a special place among them.

She had been forced to suffer repeatedly at the hand of his family– the agony of the _Cruciatus_-curse could made you lose your mind. The guilt he felt at that memory, not being able to interfere, only grew. Stroking back his hair, he sighed and walked over to the Head-Girl, observing her bare back. His parents had a low tolerance for sunlight, too, and he knew from personal experience how a nasty sunburn looked and felt ... and Hermione was wearing one.

Mouth turned down at one corner, he reached her, glanced down and prod her carefully with one toe. "Granger, wake up!"

No reaction.

He did it again, a little harder, but earned nothing more than a low sigh, accompanied by a sound like a mew of a kitten. _If I have to bend down and shake you, you silly goose, then you can lie here until you rot! _Crossing his arms, he looked at her, eyes travelling down her slim body, over her legs, calves, seeing that the sun had done its work there, too.

Another rumble of thunder rolled across the lake, and he felt the first breeze stroke his face. He had to decide now. He could turn and leave, or he could wake her properly. Before he could make up his Malfoy-mind and leave this pest to her fate, he remembered the headmistress' speech about behaviour and this year being his 'last chance.' Grumbling, he accepted that he really hadn't a choice in this matter, and bent down. He laid one hand on her back, feeling the heat, and skin as soft as silk. Hastily he cleared his throat, promising himself that he would wash his hand four times at least, and called: "Granger? Wake up or you'll get a shower."

This time Hermione stirred and mumbled something that sounded very much like 'five minutes more', but Draco would have none of it. Shaking her roughly, he finally succeeded in gaining her attention. With a gasp, she raised her head, blinked sleepily around her and rolled onto her back – only to gasp in pain, and move back onto her side, pressing her eyes shut and swearing. Malfoy had to grin. "Harsh language! Who would have thought that Miss Smarty-pants could curse like that!"

Hermione tried to collect her thoughts. She had awoken from a beautiful dream and found herself outside, wind picking up, pain on her back and legs, and a voice she so didn't want to hear! Forcing her eyes open she glanced into the aristocratic features of an obviously amused Draco Malfoy, who gave her his trademark smirk. "End of the beauty sleep, Granger, not that it would help anything, in your case."

The girl sighed – what a way to wake up! – and rubbed her eyes. "Sod off, Malfoy!" she grumbled, and tried to sit up, only to gasp in pain again. Biting her lip, she moved very slowly and took a deep breath, feeling her back. "What happened?" she asked moaning.

"It's called sunburn," he replied. "Really, Granger, you of all people should know better than to go to sleep in the sun."

Hermione looked up and realized that the Head-Boy, clad in jammers and a thin long-sleeved shirt, stood beside her, while above them both the skies were growing dangerous. More thunder growled and one quick glance around her proved that she and Malfoy were alone. "Where are the others?" she asked groggily.

The Prince of Slytherin shrugged. "Back at the castle, I would say. It's nearly dinnertime." He lifted one silver brow, sneering, "And you don't have to thank me, _partner_. I woke you up instead of letting you sleep through a thunderstorm."

Finally fully awake, Hermione blushed a sheepish smile. "Thank you," she said sincerely, before she rose cautiously, her back and her legs protesting. "Ouch, that hurts!" she cried, and for a fraction of a moment, something like sympathy crossed Draco's expression.

"Yeah, sunburn can mess up your day," he heard himself saying and wanted to bite off his tongue. Not commiserating, not him! _Someone kill him, please!_

Bending down Hermione quickly packed her stuff and folded her blanket, surprised that he had not simply walked away, but had awoken her and was waiting for her. As she pulled her shorts out of her beach-bag and slipped into them, she saw he was staring at her legs! Again!

Draco had a very good look at the girl as she stowed her book, towel and blanket into her bag. Who would have thought that such a body was hiding beneath those stupid robes?

"Enjoying the view?"

Throwing back his words from their second morning at Hogwarts, her comment pulled him out of his reverie, and this time it was he who felt the blood rushing to his cheeks. Damn smart bitch! She really was a feisty one!

Putting his hands into the pockets of his shorts, he drawled: "I've seen better." His conscience reared up and accused him. _Liar!_He shook his head to clear it and continued impatiently: "Done yet?" He nodded towards her beach-bag and hid a grin, as her eyes shot daggers at him, while she put her sandals on.

"If you hadn't been staring so much, you could have helped!" she mocked.

"What? Me? Do I look like a house elf?" For a moment he thought she was going slap him, but she controlled herself and lifted her chin.

"It's a good thing Professor McGonagall …"

She stopped when she saw that his attention had shifted to something behind her. Not trusting him for a second, she whirled about, following his gaze. There, where the shore jutted out into the lake, outside of the school's borders, she saw two figures standing, looking at them. Hermione turned to face them, and narrowed her eyes to get a better view in the rapidly decreasing light.

"Who… what are they?" She didn't even notice that she was whispering.

Draco stared at the two larger shapes; the hair on the back of his neck prickling. "I don't know," he murmured, "but I don't like it." Instinctively he reached for his wand and drew it out; his eyes never leaving the shadows. Somehow the air seemed to cool several degrees, and the skies turned darker along the horizon. Something was not right here. He could feel it. "Grab your stuff, Granger, _now_!" he instructed in a low voice and stepped forward, wand ready. To his relief, she did as he said without protest, and her face showing that she felt the lurking danger as well. "Back to the castle!" he commanded and walked backward towards Hogwarts, his wand still pointed toward the two shadows and, even without realizing it, creating a shield between the secret observers and Hermione.

"What could they could be?" The girl's voice was tight, higher than normal. She sounded almost … afraid.

He concentrated on the two figures, trying to make out detail, but all he could see was dark hair, tall silhouettes wearing black. But still, there was something familiar, something in their stance … "No," he whispered. "I don't like this. Move, Granger! Maybe Hogwarts' protections are holding them back. I don't want to test our skill against theirs."

In alert Hermione turned around to him. "Holding them back from what?" she asked, already knowing he meant: an attack.

Draco didn't answer. He could feel the eyes of the strangers on him, eyes that seemed to burn him, trying to hold him to the spot with dark force. Their motionlessness reminded him of the advanced fighters of Voldemort, of his aunt Bellatrix, or her husband, her brother-in-law. Or some of the other well-trained Death-Eaters, who -

He swallowed.

He suddenly knew who was standing there on the other side of the school's barrier. Not their names, but _what_ they were. A shiver ran down his spine as his instincts kicked in. He reached out for Hermione's wrist. "Run!" he breathed, and her eyes met his, full of fear and understanding.

"Death-Eaters?" she squeaked, forgetting completely that her companion had been one, too. She felt him push her up the hillside toward the castle, raising his wand higher, ready to do battle with the interlopers.

"Maybe," he growled. "Now RUN!"

TBC…

_Yeah, a cliff-hanger. I know that I'm really mean now (laugh). And be certain that the next chapter will have some big action._

_I do hope you like it so far and I would be very, very happy to get some reviews._

_Until next time,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	10. Secrets

_My dear Readers!_ _Thank you so very, very much for the reviews. I'm really happy to read some reactions to my story, and I even more happy that you like it so much. Yes, it's building up slowly, but our beloved Ms. Rowling did the same and I always think that the characters of a story as to explorer the whole thing like the readers have to do (giggle, do I make any sense?)._

_In this new chapter Hermione and Draco will face for the first time, what is left of Voldemort and are going to realize that there is still darkness in the world. Further more Hagrid will present his new 'pet', Ron starts to get warily of our sweet witch's urge to defend the 'Ferret' and… Well, I think you have to read it._

_I hope you're going to have fun,_

_Love you all,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 9 – Secrets**

"Now RUN!"

Draco didn't have to say it the third time. Granger tucked her bag and sprinted up the short incline, toward the gates of the castle's courtyard, Malfoy beside her. A cold anger crept into their minds and bodies at the thought that those silhouettes could really be Death Eaters. Again and again, the Head Boy threw glances over his shoulder, not letting the two figures out of his sight. He needed no proof of their identity - he knew that they were former followers of the Dark Lord and…

He gasped as a searing pain blossomed on his left forearm, as if the image was being burned there anew. Hermione heard him, saw him slap his hand over his forearm, wincing in pain, and realized what was happening to him. Voldemort was dead, but the Dark Mark would work if talented Death Eaters used it to contact others. In this case, it was to torture a former member of their exclusive little club. Draco had pressed his eyes shut, stumbling, and clenched his teeth.

"Malfoy!" she called, dropping back to his side. In doing so, she felt a strange pressure in her head. Having thoroughly read about _Legilimency_ – the assault of another's mind to place other thoughts there – she immediately recognized that someone was trying to access her thoughts. She had not had the opportunity to learn _Occlumency_, the skill of blocking one's thoughts from intrusion, but she knew that she had to act immediately. Seeing Draco distracted by his pain, she pulled his wand out of his trembling fingers and moved between him and the attackers, "_Protego_!" hoping it would be enough. The wand felt foreign in her hand, for it hadn't chosen her, but still it obeyed and worked as a catalyst for her magic. The pressure behind her temples vanished.

Several nearby nesting birds rose up in panic and then, suddenly, the strangers were nothing more than a blur of black smoke, whirling into the air, into the darkening skies, mingling with the lowering clouds. Hermione swallowed down her fear. She had seen it before, when the followers turned into a small tornado of black dust. Only the most skilled Death Eaters had been able to use such dark and forbidden magic that allowed them to fly without brooms.

She turned back to Malfoy, still holding his wand, and they both sank to their knees. He was pale as snow and his eyes had reddened. He breathed unsteadily, still clutching his left arm, focusing on the ground in front of him to regain some control. The pain still lingered, she could tell. She gave him several moments, her heart beating far too quickly, both from fear and sudden compassion.

"Malfoy?" she whispered and watched him carefully. "Are you okay?"

He didn't answer at first, then he straightened his shoulders. "What do you think?" he forced the words past clenched teeth, without lifting his eyes from the ground.

Hermione grimaced – so typical for him to mask any weakness with anger! – and held her hand out to him. "Show me," she said softly, and told herself to remain patient when his head jerked up and his eyes met hers.

"NO!" He sounded almost panic-stricken.

The Gryffindor understood the reason for his reaction. Deciding to let the cat out of the bag, she replied calmly: "I know you were branded with the Dark Mark – and those bastards did something with it to torture you. Let me see it. I might be able to ease the pain. I did learn some healing spells while larking about the countryside."

He stared at her, shocked, unbelieving, angry, frustrated … so many emotions passed through his storm-grey eyes that Hermione felt another jab of sympathy. "You … you _know_?" he finally managed to say, his body language reminded Hermione of a trapped panther, ready to strike – or to flee. Her senses told her that this was a critical moment for both of them.

"Yes, I know about your Dark Mark." Uneasily she watched his eyes dart around like a trapped deer, and continued even more softly. "It was obvious, even in our sixth year. And I saw it the evening you … you learned about the attack on your parents." She met his glare again, this time daring and challenging. "But I don't care anymore. It's in the past." She bit her lips. "But not for you, seeing what it can still do to you."

He relaxed momentarily. She didn't think that he was truly ashamed of the branded proof of his sinister past, but she could tell that he didn't want to be reminded of it, which she saw as a beginning. Maybe he really had changed, if only a little. Sighing she reached out and gently pulled his right hand from his arm, her gaze never leaving his. She was surprised that he allowed her to touch him, to let her do as she asked – that is, until she tried to peel the sleeve of his shirt back. His hands shot forward and caught hers in a bruising grip, an angry frown appeared on his forehead.

"That's quite enough, Granger!" he hissed, his eyes were two small silver slits – which suddenly widened when he saw what she held. "That is _my_ wand!" he growled, and Hermione sighed and sat back on her heels.

"Yes, I needed it to protect us. And you don't have to thank me. We're even now, seeing how you woke me up before the rain came!" Irritation edged her voice and her expression, while she tried to free her hands without success. He was too strong.

"And why did you need _my_ wand?" he demanded harshly, snatching it from her. "You didn't lose yours again, did you!"

"No, it's in my bag – and there was no time," she told him, her voice raised, her patience finally gone. "Sweet cider, Malfoy, get a grip! Two Death Eaters just attacked us and used your Dark Mark to hurt you, and they're still out here somewhere! So stop acting like offended royalty and let's get back to the castle before they try to finish us off!"

Without wasting another moment, she yanked her hands free, gripped his right wrist and pulled him after her, holding her bag over her shoulder, ignoring the sunburn on her shoulder. "And don't you dare complain about my 'filthy' fingers on your precious white skin. I do think you'll survive it!" In spite of her temper, she did notice that the skin beneath her palm was surprisingly smooth and not the slightest bit cold, but warm. But it felt odd to touch him like this, and it distracted her as she headed for the castle, pulling him along with her.

As the two jogged back to the safe walls of the castle, both their minds went in completely different directions. For a long moment Draco had no words, and followed the lithe, feisty witch, who had once again stepped between him and danger. His left arm still burned like fire, and he was certain that one of the two strangers had tried to reach into his mind, but thank the stars above he had learned _Occlumency_. His thoughts were now in turmoil, but not only because of the presence of two Death Eaters near Hogwarts. The Malfoy side of him was furious with the knowledge that the Mudblood not only saved the day, but also dared to put her hands on him, as if he were one of her menial class. However the man in him was amused by her demonstration of the temper that lay beneath her veneer of rationality. She was gabbling on in that silly way she had.

And then it hit him. He'd been attacked by two _Death Eaters!_ His mother's warning sounded loud in his ears, she had pleaded with him to stay in the school for his own safety. So, mother had been right. He _was_ in danger, and he didn't know what to do about it.

Hermione, on the other hand, wrestled with her own thoughts about the last few minutes. "We have to go to McGonagall. We _have_ to tell her what happened. Maybe she can contact the Ministry and they'll send some Aurors to catch those bastards!" Her nerves were strung tight, making her ramble like she often did after the danger had passed. "And she has to have a closer look at your arm. Madame Pomfrey will know how to ease the pain. I could do it, too, but rather the Thames flows backwards, before the noble born, pure blooded Draco Malfoy allows a Muggle-born to help! I really don't get you, Malfoy. Here we are, having-"

"Would you _please_ stop talking, Granger?" He sounded unnerved as they reached the courtyard. "I'm trying to sort out what just happened, and your verbal diarrhoea is absolutely no help!"

She threw him a fiery glance. He wrenched out of her grip, and she scoffed: "Just check your arm. Maybe my fingers left some marks on it, too!"

"I'm certain of it!" he snapped, and strode faster, heading for the entrance, and then up the staircase, the voices from the Great Hall echoing from inside.

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked. "McGonagall is most likely in her private office and…"

He whirled around, a deep frown on his forehead. "I will not go to her." He pointed a finger at her. "And you will not go to her, either! No word about what happened outside, clear?"

Gaping at him, Hermione shook her head. "Malfoy, Death Eaters attacked you! They attacked my mind, I could feel it! We have to tell the headmistress about it and probably-"

Startled, she went silent as Draco suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders. "_Not one word_, Granger!" he hissed, glaring at her. "I will not be the subject of idle school gossip! I will contact my father and that will be quite enough."

"But…"

"No 'buts', Granger! I already told you on the train: don't mingle in my businesses. This is something that concerns my family and me, so _stay the hell out of it!_" He meant it. He was more than serious.

But Hermione wouldn't be Hermione if she'd backed down now. His demand made no sense at all. "Malfoy, this is not just about you and your family. We all are in danger as long as Death Eaters are free and prowling outside the school. They attacked me, too. So-"

"Wrong place, wrong time. So let it be a warning," he interrupted her sharply. "You helped me out there, I admit it, and I'm grateful. But don't interfere again! I can't always protect you!"

She gasped. "Protect _ME? _I saved your sorry white hide this time, not the other way around!" she finally told him in a forced whisper as he loosened his grip and turned to walk away.

Angrily he whirled around again. "Don't exaggerate. We weren't in mortal danger. It was just uncomfortable, so…"

"'_Uncomfortable'_?" Hermione didn't trust her own ears. Was he daft or simply in denial? "You were whimpering in pain and completely helpless, and those foul creatures tried to invade my mind! That isn't 'uncomfortable', it's-"

"I was NOT 'whimpering in pain'! Don't you dare spread that story around!" he strained not to shout this in the front hall, his pale face flushed, fists balled. "Not a word to anyone – not to Potter, not to Weasley, not to a teacher. And if I learn that you've told anyone of … of this damn mistake…" He nodded to his left forearm, "I swear, I'll-"

Something whirled around them, something fat, white, transparent and cold, laughing like a hyena. "Kissy, kissy, the Slytherin and the missy, they bicker like young lovers, and give a show for all the others!"

"Peeves!"

This time both of them shouted in surprise as the poltergeist circled them, made a rude face and flew up to the high ceiling, still cackling his silly poem.

"One day I'm going to bring a priest here and have him chase that ridiculous ghost away!" she groaned and her partner snorted.

"Exorcizing Peeves would take the entire abbey!"

The enormous tower clock struck the hour, echoing throughout the castle. They were going to be late for dinner. And they hadn't even changed yet. Running toward the staircase, they continued to argue about reporting what happened to McGonagall or not. This was resolved, more or less, when Malfoy blackmailed Hermione into promising her silence by threatening to report her leniency to the two Hufflepuffs. Scolding as only she could, she finally gave in. She swore to herself that she would be more diligent about keeping an eye on her Head-partner from now on. They parted in the common room, arriving separately at the Great Hall, still irritated with each other – and secretly shaken by the latest events.

And the night would hold more surprises…

"I can't believe it!"

Harry stared wide-eyed at Hermione, while she hushed him, throwing a wary glance toward Madame Pomfrey, who had vanished into her office to mix a lotion for her sunburn. It was a good excuse for the two of them to be in the hospital-wing together, and visiting Ron. The red-haired young man was frustrated and nearly exhausted by his feet and legs jerking and moving on their own accord, but what Hermione told them after dinner was enough to distract him from his affliction.

"Death Eaters, here, at Hogwarts!" Ron shook his head and groaned, as his jinxed feet did a little dance. "And all because of the Ferret!" he growled.

Harry bit his lips. "The _Daily Prophet_ had it right, for a change. The Death Eaters who are still at large are after their former members and their families. Malfoy has a problem."

"Couldn't care less," Ron grumbled. "You heard what Hermione told us: he has the Dark Mark and…" His light eyes went wide. "You were right, Harry, in Diagon Alley, when you said he must have gotten the mark. He already was a Death Eater then!" He blinked and looked out window. "And here among us. Blimey!"

"Calm down, Ron," Hermione said with a sigh. "He only got it because of his father, surely, and Voldemort wanted someone to do the deed to Dumbledore. And he's terrified that the others will find out. I think he's ashamed of it." She grimaced. "Knowing what the other Death Eaters can do to him, using that awful 'tattoo,' well, I pity him."

"Pity? Malfoy?" Ron's glare revealed that he doubted her sanity. "It's his own fault-"

"We were all so young, so easy to impress. He followed his father's example, as you did with yours. So how-"

"Why are you defending him?" A crease appeared between Ron's eyebrows, his eyes and the turn of his mouth betrayed his dislike. And he didn't like the way his girlfriend was standing up for their old enemy.

"I'm not defending him, I'm just saying it's not fair to ignore his problems," Hermione replied, shrugging. "His parents in danger, himself at risk, even here in Hogwarts. You know what that's like. After all, your parents are on the vengeance list, too." Hermione sat down on the empty bed beside him, straightened her thin cotton trousers and top. "What really puzzles me is that those two intruders were able to get past Hogwarts' borders. Not with all their power intact, but still enough to hurt Draco and try to access my thoughts."

Out of habit Harry rubbed his scar. "You should have gone to McGonagall, Mione. Really!"

Hermione sighed, looking down. "I promised Draco that I wouldn't tell a professor."

"Only a professor? You didn't promise about us?" A knowing grin played around Harry's face, and the Head Girl took a deep breath. "Yeah, I did, but, well, it's a whole other issue, if I'm running to the headmistress or tell a secret to my best friends." She looked back and forth between the two. "Please, don't tell anyone. Malfoy will blow up and find a way to curse me if he learns that I broke my word. Harry, you could always depend on us to keep your secrets, remember?"

"I'll hex him into the next week, if he tries to do something to you," Rom grumbled, then, "Aww, get off it!" as his legs began to jerk and to kick again. "Hermione, you're Head Girl. Give them so much Detention that they don't know which is right or left!" he requested angrily.

"Them?" Hermione had lost his train of thought.

"The two who were attempting this stupid jinx and hit me with it!"

Harry almost laughed – and swallowed the laughter the moment Madame Pomfrey returned. She instantly scolded them when she saw the two at Ron's bed and shooed them out of the hospital wing as soon as she had treated Hermione's sunburn behind a curtain. Waving at their friend for the last time, the two departed, leaving a frustrated Weasley behind. Outside Potter looked at her, his expression serious, and murmured: "Think about it, Mione. If Death Eaters appeared within the school grounds, McGonagall should be informed."

"I gave my word," she replied automatically. "And I violated that promise by telling you."

They walked past several darkened windows, but still no rain. The thunder had ceased for the time being. It felt again like the quiet before the storm, the atmosphere thick enough to slice with a knife. Hermione looked at Harry and lifted one brow. Ever since dinner, she'd felt that he had something he wanted to tell her, but couldn't find the words. She smiled softly. "Out with it!" she said and met his surprised gaze.

"What?"

"You're up to something, but don't know how to tell me. Come on, I won't give you Detention, I promise!"

He grinned at her insight, and rubbed his neck. "I met Hagrid on my way back from the Quidditch field. He asked us to visit him this evening. It seems a new 'pet' has arrived. Ron can't, and I know you're not fond of most of his interests, but I didn't want to disappoint him and said we would come."

Hermione rubbed her temple. "You do know that we wouldn't make it back to the castle before ten o'clock? It's already past nine."

He smiled at her, his green eyes were sparkling. "Would you take points from Gryffindor if you caught me?"

Giggling she smacked his arm. "Silly, of course not." She sighed, which she seemed to be doing a lot lately. "Right. Bring your invisibility cloak and met me in half an hour at the entrance. Unlike you, I should be able to get there with no trouble."

He beamed, "Thanks, Hermione. I knew you wouldn't let Hagrid down!"

They parted and walked to their dorms. Hermione was deep in thought as she arrived at the portrait hole and stepped through. The green fire in the fireplace and Draco kneeling in front of it immediately captured her attention. But, to her surprise, she didn't see the face of Lucius or Narcissa Malfoy. The green flames were empty – and Draco looked frustrated as he glanced over his shoulder with angry eyes.

"What are you doing here?" he snapped and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I live here, dimbulb!" she replied and shook her head. "Forget that?"

His eyes swept her with disdain, and made a dismissive gesture with one hand. "Whatever it is you want, hurry up! I've urgent matters."

"Yes, seeing as someone seems to want your head," Hermione scoffed. She nodded toward the green fire. "No one at home?"

He glared at her, turning over retorts in his mind. But knowing her and don't wanting to risk her talking to the headmistress after all, he decided just to answer. "No, no response."

Without realizing it, Hermione stepped close, worry on her face. No, Lucius and Narcissa didn't awaken sympathy in her, but their silence could mean trouble. "Maybe they've gone out for dinner or something," she offered.

A low snort. "For sure, with a dozen Death Eaters on their tail and a wall of Aurors around them. Sounds like a lovely evening." He grimaced. "Really, Granger, you aren't usually stupid. It doesn't suit you." He glanced back at the dancing green flames. "I tried the library, the dining-room, the living-room and even their bed-room. No answer anywhere." He sounded frustrated, not even realizing that he spoke aloud.

Only when she spoke up did he learn that he had spoken his thoughts aloud: "All of your fireplaces are connected?" Hermione couldn't deny it, she was impressed.

Draco shrugged. "Not all. The kitchen isn't."

Kitchen! That was the answer. Whirling around, Hermione clapped her hands. "Kreacher? Would you please be so kind to come here?"

"No, wait -!" Malfoy started to protest, but it was too late. With a loud 'crack' the house-elf appeared out of nothing in front of her, bowing deeply, his ugly old face looking eager and friendly.

"Kreacher has been summoned by the lovely Miss and wishes her a good evening. How can Kreacher help?" He wore a new, clean dishtowel tied about his waist and the locket he had received from Harry winked on his leathery chest.

"Good evening to you too, Kreacher, and thank you for allowing me some of your time," Hermione smiled and kneeled down in front of him to put herself at his eye-level. "Kreacher, you do like the Malfoy family, don't you?"

The large dark eyes even went wider, before he stammered: "Y-y-yes, Miss, the Lady Malfoy was always kind to Kreacher and…" he bowed deeply again, seeing Draco as the young man rose from his position in front of the fireplace. "Good evening to you, Master Draco!"

Malfoy's silver-grey eyes were on the witch, ignoring the elf's greeting completely. "You want to send him to my home to check on my parents!" It was not a question, but a statement – strangely calm.

Hermione nodded. "Kreacher can leave Hogwarts' grounds by Apparating, you can't. So it's only logical to ask him for a favour."

Kreacher, who nervously twisted his fingers in his dishtowel, cleared his throat. "Of course Kreacher can go to Malfoy Manor and look in on the Lady, but…" His oversized ears jerked. "But why, Miss?"

Draco stared at him. _A house-elf asked for reasons of an order? Had the world gone mad_? Before he could sneer a comment, Hermione answered the creature as if she were talking to a classmate: "Because Death Eaters attacked Draco's parents three weeks ago and Draco can't contact them now. They don't answer his calls and he is very worried." She thought she could feel the glare on the back of her head. Remembering his pride that taught him that a Malfoy was NEVER worried or frightened, she added hastily, "and it is important that he is able to speak to them. So, if you don't mind, and if your duties allow it, could you please have a look in the manor, to see if the Malfoys are all right and give them a message to contact their son here?"

Draco felt the reigns slipping through his fingers, an unacceptable circumstance, and loudly cleared his throat. "Granger, I appreciate your willingness to help, I really do, but-"

"Do you have a better idea? Let's hear it!" she interrupted him impatiently, glancing over her shoulder to him. "If you don't contact your father about this afternoon, I might forget my promise and go to McGonagall." She watched his face grow red with a rising fury, but she stood her ground. "I certainly don't want to break my word, and you don't want to have any trouble with the headmistress not for going directly to her. So we must act _now_." Her brown looked steadily into his silver ones.

He gritted his teeth. "You're blackmailing me?" he asked, his voice low, threatening.

Hermione gave him one of her sweetest, merriest smiles, to take some of the wind out of his sails, so to speak. "Oh no, _Draco_, of course not. That's still your specialty. But I really wonder about the way your mind works, if you consider a reasonable alternative a form of _blackmail_." For a long moment she held his fierce glance, then she turned her attention back to Kreacher. "Could you…?" she began, but the house elf already nodded and vanished with the sharp noise.

Sighing Hermione rose, running her hands through her hair, and retreated. At least they were doing _something_ about this 'visit' from the Death Eaters, even if it meant contacting that mean-spirited Lucius Malfoy-

"Where are going?" His voice had a distinct edge to it, and the Head-Girl halted at the stairs.

"To my dorm." She glanced back at him. "I have something I must do this evening. Excuse me."

"That's it? You stick your Muggle-born nose into my businesses and just walk away?" Anger made his voice dark.

Grimacing, Hermione turned around, wondering what she'd find. She recognized his rigid posture and the tension in his shoulders, rising toward his ears, and the cords standing out on his neck, visible above the open neck of the shirt. His lips were pressed shut and his glare dared her to refuse a proper answer now.

But his mood couldn't fool her. She realized his true state: he was terrified; fearing the silence of his parents meant the worst. And, as in the days before, her irritation with his arrogant and hurtful behaviour melted once again into something like compassion. Draco Malfoy was traversing a high wire, with too many reasons to fall and nothing to hold on to, a helpless position. He'd been there before. And her own big heart stirred for him, despite their history with each other.

"We can do nothing more than wait until Kreacher returns. In the meantime, I'll go change and…" she took a deep breath, it was almost time to meet Harry, but she hadn't it in her to leave him to himself under these circumstances, "and then I'll wait here with you until Kreacher comes back."

He didn't answer, his expression didn't change, but it didn't slip her attention that his shoulders lowered a fraction and he had stopped gritting his teeth. Nor did he bite out a comment about how he didn't need anyone to stay with him. Hiding a smile, Hermione nodded and ran up the stairs to her dorm. She grabbed a sweater and a rain jacket, in case the storm finally broke.

Returning, she approached Draco on his sofa, deep in thought, arms crossed, head lowered. He started when she came into view and he glanced up to her. For the twinkling of an eye, he looked uncharacteristically small, almost vulnerable, like a little boy, then the cool mask was back in place. "The old bat is sluggish. What's taking him so long?" he grumbled

Hermione shrugged. "As I recall, your home is enormous. He must be-"

_CRACK_

Kreacher was back, but before he could say anything, Draco jumped up. "Where are they? Are they hurt? What did you-"

"Stop! Let him speak!" Granger interrupted, laying a gentle hand on the shoulder of the house elf, who was looking wide-eyed at the flustered Head Boy. Then he gulped and reported: "Kreacher has searched for the beautiful Lady Malfoy and her noble husband, but they are not at home. Kreacher asked Sneaker, an obedient servant of the noble house of Malfoy, and he told Kreacher that the elevated Lady and gallant Master are in London, on the invitation of the Minister of Magic. Several Death Eaters have been captured and the lovely Lady and her husband were asked to identify them. But Kreacher left a message with Sneaker and they shall contact the brave young master upon their return."

The tension left Draco and he sighed in relief, rubbing his forehead; his silver ring glistening in the firelight. They were at the Ministry, not in danger. Thank heaven. Then, he remembered that he wasn't alone and glanced up, meeting the warm amused eyes of the girl. Her idea to send the house elf to check on his parents had been a good one – even more so since the old gnome returned with good news, but still … it rankled him to have to thank her, again! But he had risen politely and tilted his head, told her, "Thanks, Granger, for calling him." He pointed at Kreacher, who grinned up at him with yellow teeth. Then Malfoy frowned. "Kreacher, no word to anyone about where you were or why!"

Hermione squeaked a sound of frustration. "Oh, Malfoy, since you asked Kreacher so nicely he certainly will keep your little secret!" she mocked, glaring at him before she turned to the house elf, who already had his hands on his chest, covering the locket with them, and bowing.

"I swear, young Master, that no one unworthy will learn of it."

"Unworthy?" Draco repeated, already anticipating what the house elf meant. "You will not tell ANYONE -" He stopped, for Kreacher had quickly kissed Hermione's hand and vanished. Exasperated, the Prince of Slytherin threw back his head. "Why me!" he groaned, and turned again to his partner. "You, girl, you make sure he doesn't talk to Potter about it!" he told her imperiously, effectively punching Hermione's "outrage" button.

"Has it ever entered your mind to ask instead of order me around?" she snapped. His glare spoke volumes. She threw her rain jacket over her arm, irritation spread over her sun-kissed face. "Have a nice evening, Slytherin, I'm out of here."

He took one long stride, planting himself in front of her, silver eyes pinning her to the spot. "You gave your word, Granger! Don't you break it and mess with me! If I learn that you or this elf said a word about-"

"Why are you so eager to keep this a secret?" she shouted frustration. "There is no witch or wizard in this country that doesn't know that the Death Eaters still at large are out for revenge! They've spied on you, attacked you, but you act like it's some kind of private family affair! Why don't you want any help? You could be killed, too, so drop your stupid arrogance and let us help!"

"I don't need help, Granger!" he fired back. "Snape didn't get it, my mother didn't get it, you don't get it either! I do NOT need your help FIGHTING OFF THESE BASTARDS!"

Hermione stared at him before she hissed, "Is that what I should put on your gravestone, Malfoy?" With that, she walked around him toward the portrait hole.

"Where are you going?"

"Out!" she snapped. "I need some fresh air! And by the way, you're welcome!" Slamming the portrait behind her, she vanished into the darkening corridor, nearly shrieking with rage at the ingratitude and foolhardy pride of this large bundle of impossibility she was assigned to live with.

The air was thick with electricity as Harry and Hermione – both hidden under the invisibility cloak he had inherited from his father – left the castle and walked towards Hagrid's hut. It had been rebuilt after the Death Eaters set it afire. Golden light shone through the small windows, partly open, and the delicious smell of tea and cake reached them on the still evening. Fang, the enormous wolfhound, recognized them immediately in spite of the cloak, and barked an enthusiastic greeting before they even reached the door.

"Jus' a moment!"

A chair scraped the floor and the door was opened, the giant figure of the gamekeeper filled the door-frame, blocking the light. He grinned as two faces appeared in the dark. "C'mon in, yeh two!"

While Potter folded the magical cloak, Granger defended herself against the enthusiastic welcome of Fang, laughing and scratching his ears. The huge dog did not seem to mind that she smelled of a Half-Kneazle, but she knew that Crookshanks would be jealous when she returned and he caught the scent of the dog. Oh well!

Hagrid laid out the cream and sugar. "So, Ron is still in hospital?" he asked.

"Yeah, he's dancing with himself in bed," Harry grinned. "You should see him, Hagrid, he's really talented. Maybe he should give dancing lessons for the Yule Ball."

Hermione punched him on the shoulder. "Really, Harry!" she scolded him, amused. Sitting down on one of the chairs, she looked around at the familiar scene, taking in the comfortable surroundings that offered warmth a feeling of security.

The Golden Trio had visited Hagrid twice since they'd been back at Hogwarts, and, unlike their sixth year, he wasn't offended that they hadn't chosen Care of Magical Creatures. Their schedules were full enough, and with Hermione being Head-Girl, in addition to her secret determination to find out what happened around and in Hogwarts, she almost didn't know if she was coming or going. The three students enjoyed their visits with the half-giant, who had hinted that he was expecting a 'new arrival' soon – and none of the three had been eager to learn any more about it. They all knew Hagrid's odd affection for everything frightening, dangerous and deadly. The 'sweet little thing' had arrived and the half-giant seemed eager to show it at last to Harry and Hermione. Ron would have to wait.

While Hagrid poured them two cups of fruit tea, Hermione took the opportunity to ask about the two creatures which were able to chase a werewolf away, and if the professor found out anything about the shadows that chased him away. Their host grumbled to himself and shrugged.

"I don' know any more than yeh, Hermione, but I think Dumbledore and Snape ar' givin' it a lot o' thought. Why?"

The girl pushed back some stray curls and answered: "Because three days ago, I think I saw one of them in Hogwarts." She raised her brown eyes to Hagrid's beetle black ones and continued: "It growled and threw shadows on the wall, which were somehow human, but also somehow not. Whatever it was, it ran off when I got nearer, but I heard noises like claws on stone as it ran away."

Hagrid sat down, too (the chair creaked dangerously, but held his enormous bulk). "Have yeh told a professor about it?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, only you – and Harry, Ginny and Malfoy." She made a face when Rubeus looked surprised. "He's my partner and was on patrol, too, as it happened."

"Let me guess: 'e didn't believe one word."

"Oh, maybe he did – because he thought it might have been Peeves, or a cat, or me losing my mind." She pulled a face as she said the latter.

Harry cleared his throat. "Hermione, you've been looking for anything about odd shadows in the library for the last three days. You didn't find anything. Maybe Malfoy is right this time and it was really Peeves."

"It was the same creature as in the Forbidden Forest! I'm sure of it," she interrupted him stubbornly and crossed her arms, setting her mouth. "I'll ask Kreacher. House elves know more about what goes on in their homes than anyone else. Maybe he saw something, or-"

A grunting, snuffling sound came from one corner and instantly Hermione grew silent. What ... ?

Hagrid's expression brightened. "Oh, I almos' forgot ter introduce yeh t' someone." He rose, missing the uneasy glance they exchanged. He bent over a wooden box, his eyes shimmering with love, while he cooed, "Yeah, I know, yeh tired, li'l one!" He reached into the box, lifted out something small, and turned around.

It looked ... like ... a pig. A very ugly little pig, with warts on its face, a long snout, small eyes and the first hints of what was sure to be wicked tusks. At first sight, you might mistake it for a warthog, a very young one, but Hermione knew better. She jumped from her chair, wide-eyes. "A-a-a _Tebo_?" she squeaked.

Harry groaned, "Hagrid, can't you get an ordinary pet?"

Hagrid looked baffled, and stroked the dark fur of the tiny animal. "It's no' dangerous or anythin' like tha'. It won' be any larger than Fang once it's grown."

"No, no larger than Fang, cute little pup he is. Hagrid, Tebos can make themselves invisible. They destroy gardens and can be very bad tempered!" Hermione grumbled.

"At least it doesn't have eight legs or spit fire," Harry consoled himself, watching the animal curiously. He had heard about those creatures, even though he hadn't grown up as a wizard, and he knew that they originated in the Congo and Zaire. Yeah. He'd also learned that they could be very dangerous, as could most magical creatures. In other words, it was perfect for the Half-Giant.

Hagrid cuddled the tiny fellow in his arms, which earned him a reaction similar to a purr. It was obvious that the Tebo liked its new master. "I think I'll be givin' lessons about it. The fifth years'll love it."

Wisely, Harry and Hermione held their tongues, remembering too well their own classes with Hagrid as their teacher, and the problems of the blast-ended screwts. Giving Hagrid the choice of what magical creature he wanted to teach about led to inevitable injuries. Some creatures were simply not suitable for class work, and, unfortunately, those animals were Hagrid's favourites.

"How old is he? Or she?" Harry carefully changed the topic.

Hagrid beamed at him, clearly glad that they seemed interested. "Oh, it's a she and she's about three months ol'. Jus' a baby." He went on with shining eyes and pride in his voice, while he held forth about the tiny female Tebo snuggled in the enormous crook of his elbow. It was some time before he put her back into the box.

The short stop at the hut turned into almost an hour, in which the three discussed the Egyptians and their hawks, the upcoming exams, and the attacks of Death Eaters. The Weasleys were protected by the Ministry, as Arthur and Molly had assured their worried son and daughter, and Harry and Hermione were glad to hear about the protective measures being used at the Burrow to keep the family and baby Ted safe. But the wizarding world was still uneasy.

Deftly, Harry had brought the conversation around to a subject he was eager to learn about, despite Hermione's attempts to kick him under the table. No, he wouldn't speak about what happened that afternoon – after all, she did give her word to Malfoy, and Harry didn't want to create any more strife for her with the Head-Boy – but he had to know more about how the school was protected. He had fought too long and too hard against Voldemort and his fellows for the school not to be alerted when one of the Death Eaters was near.

Hagrid, fortunately, took the wrong meaning to Harry's questions. "Y' don' have ter worry, Harry. McGonagall is in control here. The borders are more protected tha' ever, th' spells are stronger, and no' one miser'ble Death Eater could get through 'em. I'm sure the Ministry'll catch 'em all soon. You'll see, by Halloween they're all in Azkaban."

"I hope so," Potter mumbled. Hermione knew better than to tell him – or Hagrid – she had learned just that evening that several of them had been caught and were being identified by Draco's parents at that moment. It would have led to questions she had promised not to discuss.

As the thunder rolled once again, she and Harry bid Hagrid good-night and even said fare-well to the sleepy Tebo, tentatively petting its short bristles, and left the shack. The next flash streaked across the sky and the freshening wind promised an approaching storm over the castle and Hogsmeade. About halfway back to the castle, the first drops started to fall and both raced the hill up toward Hogwarts, but were soaked by the time they reached the small door.

"Strange weather!" Harry wondered, and winced, as the next blinding flash answered him, followed closely by thunder. Perhaps this was the storm they had all waited for to clear the air.

"Maybe this means the end of the heat," Hermione sighed, slipping out from under the invisibility cloak, illuminating her wand in the dark passage. "Stay close, Harry," she whispered, performed a drying-spell on the dripping silvery cloak, and started toward the main stair. It would draw no attention if she were patrolling late in the evening, but Potter would certainly get detention if caught outside his dorm at this hour. Hermione still hoped that they wouldn't meet a professor during their way to the Gryffindor tower. She hated lying to them.

Again a flash of lightning momentarily illuminated them, and thunder boomed around the walls of the castle. Hermione briefly wondered if anyone was able to sleep through this. The portraits were bathed in the light and the suits of armour looked eerie, as if t ready to walk off their pedestals, which they'd done in the Battle of Hogwarts when summoned by a professor.

As they reached the stone stairs, and then the second floor, Harry suddenly stopped, reaching for Hermione and holding her back. "What?" she whispered, hoping he hadn't noticed some patrolling prefect.

"Did you hear that?" he asked, his face appeared behind her.

Hermione frowned and listened very closely, heard only the rolling thunder and the downpour on the roof and windows. "I don't…" She stopped, for she suddenly heard a low growl. Her eyes widened. She knew that sound well by now. "It's here!" she breathed, dousing her wand.

Harry concentrated, peering into the darkness that was the hallway leading to the west wing of the school. It was from there they heard the noise you would expect from a large jungle cat. Pulling out his wand, he invited Hermione under the cloak again. "Let's go," he whispered, pulling her along next to him.

She gulped, not liking the idea of approaching whatever it was, but she wouldn't allow her fear to get the better of her, and so she moved soundlessly beside her friend toward the area where the growls originated.

They rounded a corner and looked down the long corridor, fitfully lit by two torches that painted shadows on the opposite wall. And there, near the end of the corridor, crouched a tall, slender figure, his silver-blond hair looking gold in the torchlight.

Draco Malfoy.

TBC…

_Yeah, a cliff-hanger. Now I'm starting to get mean (laugh, there will be much more open ends to the next chapters, be sure of it)._

_In the next one our heroes and a very tensed Draco will face something none of them thought to be real, but to be an old legend of a long ago civilisation. The 'shadows' will take shape and the forced trio will ask themselves important questions: are those shadows are fakes, or are they confronted with a truth no-one ever thought to be real. _

_And you, my dear readers, will learn more about the remaining Death Eaters, which are out to search revenge, and who is their new leader._

_I hope, you enjoyed the new update so far and would be very, very happy to receive several of your reactions._

_Have a nice week,_

_Love you,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	11. Shadows and Dark Marks

_Hallo, my dear readers,_

_Thank you once again for your reviews and the growing interest in the story. The next chapters are going to be thrilling, I promise._

_The new one will show you the first time the presence of ancient beings, which once ruled the religion of Egypt. Also you will learn about the Death Eaters, and who their new leader is._

_I wish you fun and I would be very, very happy to receive some more reviews._

_Love you all,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**10. Chapter – Shadows and Dark Marks**

Hermione blinked uncomprehendingly several times, but the view didn't alter. Perhaps twenty metres ahead of them, across the hall, her partner squatted in the niche near the bend in the corridor, mostly concealed by the shadow of the statue of Nimblerod the Nutter, essentially invisible to the rest of the corridor, and staring at the thing that she could not make out until now. She glanced at Harry, who was watching the other boy intently. Malfoy had been involved in sinister events before, and he was always involved in some scheme or another. Their history with the house of Slytherin had given them a well-developed distrust of all of the members of that house. In unspoken agreement, they silently crossed the distance toward him, hugging the opposite wall.

Once again, the noise which had captured their attention reached them, momentarily drowned out by the tempest beyond the walls. It was a sound which discouraged investigation. Nevertheless Harry slid forward along the wall, now opposite Malfoy, holding Hermione's trembling hand, admiring yet again her courage that overcame her fear.

When they were approximately ten paces away, Potter halted mid-step, his breath caught in his throat, green eyes wide with disbelief and bewilderment. Summoning all her bravery, Hermione peeked around him to look at whatever had caused Harry to grow rigid, at what had captured the attention of Draco Malfoy. Bewildered, she followed both young men's gazes and frowned.

Shadows moved over the rough stone wall, now clearly outlined. One of them was that of a cat, walking on graceful long legs, the other one, a wolf or wolf-alike animal, larger than the cat, with long sharp pointed ears and moving as a dog moved.

What were a dog and a cat doing here in the hallway? And to whom did they belong? There were no dogs in Hogwarts! (Considering the number of cats about the place, it would only create mayhem and bad feelings.) And why was this dog growling like a lion? The sounds made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, and sent a cold shiver down her spine. Something here didn't fit. It made her senses reel, and she wanted nothing more than to hide.

Harry rubbed his eyes under his glasses, and stared at the images, too, trying to sort out what he was seeing when, out of no-where, he heard a hissing. A third shadow emerged; a silhouette he knew all too well: the graceful, long body of a giant snake. For a moment he was reminded of Nagini, Voldemort's pet and final horcrux, but he knew it was not she, nor one like her. And then it coiled and raised its head, and a hood expanded behind its head in an elegant shield – a cobra, far larger than normal. For an instant, he regretted the loss of the Parseltongue that Voldemort's horcrux had given him.

Hermione had seen the reptile's shadow, too, and heard its hissing voice, like sand across stone, accompanied by the deep growl and a sudden snarl. She moistened her very dry lips and watched the shadows of the three so different animals with a mixture of fascination and apprehension.

They had not long to wonder. The shadows began to change.

Arms separated from the snake's body, legs and paws of the others changed to arms and hands, backs were stretched, tails shrank, disappeared. The transformation was not quick and smooth, like an animagus. It looked and sounded like a painful procedure, bone, muscle and skin taking on new shapes and functions. The sounds of transformation set the students' teeth on edge and their hair on end. Hermione wished she could scream, and block them out, but she just cringed under the cloak. It seemed like hours, but seconds later, the changes stopped – and the shadows were not human nor animal.

They were - wrong. Utterly and completely wrong, yet familiar and, at last, their forms were solid.

Thankfully, Hermione was holding her breath, speechless. Instinctively, Harry had reached around her and put his hand over her mouth, reminding her to control herself. Not trusting their own eyes and senses, they both gaped at the images their brains were receiving, but didn't want to accept as reality. Any sane human would have reacted thus when confronted by these fictional creatures come to life.

The backlit silhouettes had resolved to human bodies, slender, lithe, but their heads were not human. One possessed a flat snout and rounded ears, the second merged into a long dog-like mouth and nose with long pointed ears, and the third one became a tall body with a flat head with a forked tongue that flashed out from time to time. And they all seemed to be wearing headdresses covering the back of their skulls and reaching to the shoulders – an image familiar to anyone who had seen the death-mask of Tutankhamen. Hermione wrapped her arm about Harry's waist and pressed herself to his side, feeling his breath coming in soundless gasps. There was no denying what they were seeing. It was the shadow of things only seen in books or poorly reproduced in the movies, one of them instantly recognizable: Anubis, the Egyptian god of Death.

Hermione's rational side told her that this had to be fallacy, an illusion, but her ears and eyes proved her wrong. She didn't dare move, watching the three shadows moving and talking in hushed voices, and a part of her prayed for this horror to end. No-one believed in the ancient gods anymore. The faith that created them had vanished along with the old cultures, and their appearing was explained by the primal fears of the people who worshiped them. And even Hermione, whose last seven years had been spent in a world full of magic, would have never thought gods of perished cultures could possibly exist. It was overwhelming.

Harry blinked several times, trying to clear his vision, wishing he could polish his glasses, but the silhouettes remained the same. They were moving, debating among themselves, if their wild gesticulations meant what he thought. The voices were too low to hear individual words, but two were male and one was female. He flicked his eyes to look at Malfoy, wand held in a white-knuckled grip, his free hand balled into a fist and pressed over his mouth – a sure sign of shock. No, the Head-Boy wasn't involved in whatever was going on here. He too was terrified. Silent and still, the three students watched the shadows gesturing and heard words murmured in a foreign tongue, here and there interrupted by a hiss or a growl.

_No. Oh no._

Disaster approached with a distinct 'MOWRrrrrr', a noise any student knew all too well, around the corner behind them. All three froze, recognizing the voice of the familiar straggly cat with the piercing yellow eyes: Mrs. Norris. Harry swore silently and threw up a prayer of gratitude for the cloak. The cat might sense them, but at least Filch couldn't see them.

Not so Malfoy. He would be discovered, there was no chance for him to go anywhere else. His heart hammered hard against his chest. He could feel the seconds passing one at a time, and the three shadows transformed back into their animal form. They knew they were not alone.

Hermione recognized the dilemma of the Slytherin-Prince instantly. Seeing the panic in his eyes, she acted instinctively. She lifted one edge of the invisibility cloak, ignoring Harry's elbow in her side, urgently waving an invitation to Draco. Malfoy, seeing no other escape, quietly dashed the few feet across the hall and under the protection.

Hermione, knowing the cloak was barely large enough to hide the three of them, pulled the two boys into a close crouch, effectively covering them all. Malfoy recognized the reason for this, even if his mind was fogged by what he'd just witnessed. He crouched nearer to Hermione, making sure that the cloak's hem reached the floor, steadied himself against her and exchanged a nod with Potter. No words were spoken, for Mrs. Norris was now only a metre away, glaring in their direction, growling softly, when she halted, her head turning toward something further down the corridor.

The three students held their breath, wondering yet again what had been roaming Hogwarts' grounds for some time now. Something was approaching.

It was a cat.

Black as a cave on a starless night, on long, graceful legs and with eyes as green and deep as a lake in the middle of a forest, perfect in its beauty and form. Never before had Hermione seen such a lovely mammal, but it put her senses on alert. A foreign power that made her tremble seemed to emanate from the cat, and she pulled the two men closer, feeling safer with each of them pressed to her sides.

But her reaction was nothing to that of Mrs. Norris. The nasty, pampered hunter stopped and glared at the other animal, but instead of challenging it (a normal reaction to an intruder in her territory), she bowed before it, as if paying obeisance, inching forward toward the black entity on her belly, mewling softly. The black cat watched her with an almost arrogant expression, before it approached regally, and promptly Mrs. Norris rolled on her back in a gesture of complete submission, meowing and purring, as the other one sniffled at her ears and finally nudged her.

Never very far away from his cat, they next heard Filch approaching. "What did you find, my pet?" The ears of the black cat flattened, and the fur on its back rose. The heads of all three observers turned to watch his approach, and he raised his old lantern. His perpetual expression of annoyance deepened when he saw the black animal. "Can't those filthy little pests look after their own?" he groused under his breath, "Letting them free in the castle at night." He moved nearer. "Where do you belong, you flea-bitten-" He stopped when the black cat opened its mouth in an angry hiss, showing white fangs, needle sharp. And, to his utter astonishment, Mrs. Norris leapt to her feet, joining the other in snarling at him in fury, placing herself protectively between her master and the stranger.

"What in blazes…" Filch muttered, staring unbelievingly at his loyal pet. "What's happening to you, Mrs. Norris? What did those evil gnomes do to you?"

Mrs. Norris seemed to have her own opinion about the matter, and hissed again, backing up to her new friend, who was watching with keen eyes. Suddenly, the foreign cat meowed and Mrs. Norris seemed to bow, then she whirled around and ran away, past her scowling custodian and down the dim hallway.

Filch scratched his head, straggly grey strands of hair framing his baffled face. "I don't know how you got here, but I do know that I personally will throw you out of Hogwarts!" He bent forward to grab the cat – and immediately leapt backward with a painful howl, his left hand bleeding from four long deep scratches. The newcomer gave one last echoing snarl, glared directly at the students under the cloak, and rushed away after Mrs. Norris. Filch wrapped a rag around his bleeding hand and, using terms McGonagall would have fired him for, pursued Mrs. Norris and the "hellcat."

Even as the caretaker's footsteps disappeared into the distance, Harry, Hermione and Draco remained still. The eerie shadows had vanished, too, after the black cat disappeared around the bend, but still the three students were reluctant to use this opportunity to run to their dorms. They knew the mysterious animal had sensed them, had perhaps seen them, what could this mean? Harry tried to sort out what they'd witnessed over the last few minutes.

Relief welled up inside Malfoy as the hallway remained empty. For a moment the Slytherin simply leaned on the Muggle-born, not caring about her ancestry nor their rivalry. He took some deep breaths noticing the scent of coconut-oil still on her skin, her hair scented with fruit and flowers, the calming scent of a warm summer-day. _This should not be! Not the dirty Mudblood!_ But he had not the resolve to put distance between them, but relished the stolen moment now offered.

Hermione closed her eyes as soon as Filch's footsteps disappeared, and the mysterious shadows did not return. So much had happened in the last few hours she knew it would be some time before she could relax. She could feel Harry tensed beside her, Malfoy at her other side, slumped against her. It was no wonder why. He'd been through the same as she. His left arm was behind her for balance. His scent, familiar by now, suddenly assaulted her senses, his warm breath disturbed the short hairs her cheek. And, for just a second, it felt ... normal.

"I think the coast is clear," Harry whispered. "Let's go!" He rose, pulling the others upright.

"What … what was that?" she breathed and looked into their faces. "Can someone explain, what-"

"No, Granger, absolutely not!" Malfoy hissed. "I suggest we all return to our dorms immediately. I don't trust the quiet here."

Potter reluctantly agreed with Malfoy. "Yes, let's go!" he murmured.

Hermione slipped out from under the cloak. "Stay hidden, Harry. The cloak isn't large enough for all of us." Her quiet voice was still pitched higher than usual, but she bravely straightened. "_Lumos._" The three retraced their steps back toward the dormitories. They met no one, and when they reached the staircase to the fourth floor, the boys pulled off the invisibility cloak, and momentarily locked eyes. Draco knew he could have found himself in very deep water if they hadn't shown up, still he found it difficult to speak of it. Instead, he chose another topic, certainly the most important one: "I think we all three saw the same."

Harry nodded. "Yes. Shadows of ancient gods, found only in the old legends."

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, her raincoat rustling softly. "One of them certainly looked like Anubis."

"And one was a snake. The third I couldn't identify," Harry responded.

"Rounded ears and a flat snout – not to mention that - that cat." Draco's grey eyes turned toward the girl. "I daresay the same you met several days ago."

Nodding, Granger shivered. "What are they doing here? Are they real? I can't believe that they are … really … Anubis and others of his realm."

Rubbing his temple, Harry shook his head. "A wolf, a cat and a snake. Do these sound at all familiar?" he asked and Malfoy snorted.

"Yes, the house-emblems of our new school-mates."

Several floors away, they could hear Filch's angry voice calling for Madame Pomfrey, heedless of the noise he was making. The three tensed until the caretaker's voice faded again. Reacting, Hermione touched Harry's arm. "Go back to the Gryffindor-tower. I'll meet you tomorrow -"

"Just a minute!" Malfoy interrupted, glaring at Harry. Potter-baiting was just too much of a habit. "Tell me, Potter, why are you out of your cosy tower this late?"

"Want to take some points from Gryffindor for it?" Harry shot back.

"Oh, two weeks' detention sounds even better. May I remind you of McGonagall's reaction during our first year, when we were all caught out of our dormitories at night?"

Making a noise between disgust and frustration, Hermione stepped between them. "Stop it, both of you! We're not safe yet." Before they could turn on her, she continued, "Harry, please go. Malfoy and I will return to our dorm as well. I don't trust the silence here, and not just because of Filch's-" Anything else she would have said was truncated by a sudden clap of thunder, and she gave a squeak and the other two jumped as well.

Taking a deep breath, Harry nodded. "All right. Come as early as you can, Mione. There's a lot we need to talk about."

"Not running straight to your beloved Head, Potter? I thought you did nothing without informing her." Draco simply couldn't resist the temptation to sneer at his rival.

The green eyes narrowed. "And there you're wrong, Malfoy. We don't yet have any proof and-"

"- and you would find yourself up to your eyeballs in hot water." Draco sighed, seeing his chance to score another mark against his opponents fading away. "And I'd find myself at the end of the same sword, too, for letting you get away with it." He darted a sharp glance at Harry. "What are you waiting for, Wonder-Boy? Back to your dorm, before I change my mind!" He stalked away, snapping "Are you coming?" at Hermione.

"Malfoy, what led you there?" Harry called after him, risking his luck, for Draco had the authority to make things miserable for them at school – but this was too important to ignore.

Draco halted, turning. "It's none of your business, Potter, but I was returning from the owlery when I heard the noises _she_ told us about." He tossed his head in Hermione's direction. "I followed them, that's all." He cocked his head. "And your reason to be out in the hallways?"

"Visiting an old friend," came the short and honest reply and Malfoy smirked knowingly.

"Ah, the half-breed down in his shed." He snorted and shook his head. "Don't think I'll let you off the hook when I catch you out and about next time. We're even now!" He turned on his heel and walked away, his black-clad figure melding with the darkness, only his silver-blond hair visible at next lightning flash coming through the windows.

Hermione and Harry watched him leave, Harry's eyebrow raised in piqued disbelief. Hermione moaned and rubbed her face. "Sometimes I really just want to pound some sense into that stupid Slytherin."

"Wouldn't change a thing. Remember our third year?" Harry reminded her.

"Hm!" The memory of that punch was savoured momentarily, then, she continued. "We have to find out what's going on here. It _must_ involve our visitors. I'll check the library tomor-"

"Granger! Get the hell up here!"

Malfoy's shout rang out, and she threw her hands in the air. "Just a little louder and he could waken the ENTIRE castle!" She waved at Harry. "Good night. Hope you can get some sleep."

They both longed to talk over what they'd just seen but, "Until tomorrow, Mione, and please stay in your dorm!" He spread the cloak over him once again.

Listening to his footsteps retreating, Hermione finally traipsed after her partner, waiting around the next corner. "About time!"

"Honestly, Malfoy, there might be people in the Hebrides who didn't hear you yet!" she hissed, but received only a mumbled reply she couldn't catch. Soon they reached the Head-Students' dorm and murmuring the password, the portrait swung aside and the two entered their common room, relaxing finally as the door closed behind them.

Draco dropped onto his sofa, eyeing the open fireplace for any signs of his father or mother, but the flames were a bright gold, without a hint of green. Hermione, putting two and two together, slipped off her jacket, watching him. "No news?" she asked.

She had to wait for his answer. "No." And after another ten heartbeats, "I sent an owl."

"Maybe it takes longer at the Ministry," she said softly, understanding his concern. It only earned an irritated look.

"You don't have to act all motherly, Granger. I do not need your cuddling."

Hermione made a face, counted to ten, answering with forced calmness: "Malfoy, I don't want to deal with your moods. It's late, I was attacked and witnessed things that should not even exist. I do not care if your lordship feeling snippy and arrogant, but at least you could say thank-you, for Harry saved you out there!"

He looked at her with a bored expression. "I let Potter go, didn't I? That's quite enough gratitude, considering what I could have done." He saw the surprised disappointment in her eyes and, oddly, felt a strange twinge of – was that ... guilt? He stretched his arms back and propped his ankle on his knee. "Go to bed, Granger. We've both had a hard day."

Feeling both the urge to scream or simply ignore him, Hermione snatched up her jacket, eyed him for several seconds, and said: "We have to find out what is going on here, Malfoy. We have a responsibility."

"I know – but not now. I-" His thought was interrupted by a green light from the fireplace and the smooth dark voice of Lucius Malfoy.

"Draco, are you there?"

Even not knowing the older Malfoy, she still could make out the worry in his tone. She was struck anew how deeply the cold-hearted pureblood family cared for each other, affection she had not thought them capable of. Nodding toward Draco, she quickly left the common-room, granting him his privacy.

She had a lot to think about.

Soft rain pelted what was left of the roof of the main estate building in the south of London in the borough of Richmond, near the village Teddington. It appeared to Muggles as a ruinous mansion, one side already collapsed, overgrown by weeds and saplings. Large wooden planks barricaded the entrance and several boards apparently covered the broken windows. A large peeling sign on the rusting gate warned trespassers that, by stepping onto the grounds or into the house, they were placing themselves in 'mortal danger'. In addition, a variety of people from town swore on the vicar's Bible that they'd seen (insert any form of frightening entity here) through the gaps in the boards, and even those who weren't superstitious felt an increasing aversion to the building the closer they got to it. It was the opinion of the entire populace that, if one were to film a horror movie, this would be the place for it. Why nobody purchased the very fine location and demolished the building was beyond their ken.

Of course, there was a reason for this. But that's another story.

Muggles seeing dark shadows forming into the shape of humans then vanishing inside the building would think it was an illusion. But no Muggle was out that late Friday evening. Dense black smoke seemed to dart through the air, and condensed by the front door into the silhouette of a man, followed by a second. The first looked carefully around, flicked his wrist, and for a moment the planks became invisible, just long enough to let the two men pass through, before they took their solid appearance again.

The house inside was lit by several candelabras, with no hint of the decay so obvious on the outside. The light from the candles never reached the outside, and as the two men walked the hallway, they passed the empty rooms, sheets covering the shapes of expensive furniture. Finally they reached a salon where seven men and two women awaited. They all had two things in common: they wore black robes, and every left forearm showed the same tattoo: a fanged skull with a snake coming out of its mouth – the Dark Mark.

The nine looked at the two newcomers and the atmosphere grew tense. "What's the matter?" the first demanded to know. "You all look like you've eaten something nasty."

A middle-aged man with a long, twisted face, flickering pale eyes, and thin hair spoke: "They caught Yaxley!"

For a moment neither reacted, then the first cursed wildly, damning the Ministry and the Aurors to hell and back, then ran his hands over his dark shining hair. His shaded eyes narrowed, while he straightened his robe and regained his control. "When did it happen, Dolohov?"

"In the afternoon, you were barely away with Walden," answered a woman instead of the man he'd addressed. She was in her early forties, her dark-red hair framed her hard pale face like flames. "They waited for him near the Burrow where he wanted to spy on the red-haired traitors, and they stunned him." She watched him closely as his face darkened. "It gets worse." She took a deep breath and moved toward him, knowing she had a certain influence over him since their relationship had grown more intimate over the last few months. "They asked the Malfoys to identify him, because after all, his appearance has changed since the Battle of Hogwarts," she remarked, referring to three ugly wounds Yaxley received on the left side of his face, his hair now a different colour.

"They promptly left for the Ministry," the man in front of her reported, his face was grim now as the woman nodded. "Devil have mercy on them when I finally get my hands on them!" he whispered, but remained still as the woman gingerly touched his arm.

"The revenge will be ours, Rabastan, be sure of it!" she murmured and took his burning gaze. She knew that she made the right choice to stay at his side after Voldemort fell. Rabastan Lestrange was the most promising successor for the Dark Lord and she hadn't been wrong in taking him into her bed.

After Lestrange saw his brother fall prey in the one-sided battle at the wizardry school, he had nearly lost all semblance of control. And then he had witnessed how that blood-betraying traitor Molly Weasley gained the upper hand against his sister-in-law Bellatrix and how she killed her. Rabastan's reason for fighting changed at that moment. He wanted nothing more than vengeance, but as that thrice-accursed 'boy-who-lived' defeated Voldemort, there was only one option for them that day: flight. And so he and several others ran, barely escaping during the chaos as the Order of the Phoenix declared victory.

During their escape, they saw the Malfoys. It was then Rabastan realized - Narcissa Malfoy was the one who lied to the Dark Lord about Potter's death. _She_ had betrayed him, all of them, telling them Potter showed no signs of life. It was her fault that their dream of the pureblood monarchy and aristocracy came to an abrupt end, and victory had been so close. Later, after they found a hideout in the faraway, Antonin Dolohov – one of those who had escaped – reported how he had seen Lucius Malfoy protecting four students _against_ his own, while Walden MacNair growled about how the young Malfoy failed to catch Potter as instructed, that he saw Draco being defended during the battle by someone invisible – it could only have been Potter. They all knew by now that the 'boy-who-refused-do-die' had an invisibility cloak.

Several weeks later, they learned that the Malfoys had been cleared by the tribunal, for they had fought against the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord, for the 'Light.' The whole mysterious 'coming back from the dead' event that Potter somehow managed was to blame. Narcissa Malfoy protected him by declaring his death, supported him secretly until the battle had turned for the other side. In the Shrieking Shack, Lucius Malfoy learned from the Dark Lord about his plans, and led Voldemort falsely, saying that the school had been conquered. And Draco Malfoy was declared a vital ally by no less than Harry Potter himself, stating that Malfoy Minor had tried to prevent him, Ronald Weasley and the Mudblood Granger from harm in the Room of Requirement, when one of the young Death-Eaters, Vincent Crabbe, started the demon-fire that threatened to consume everything and everyone within those four walls.

The Malfoys were 'rehabilitated', while across the rest of the country, Death-Eaters were captured, brought to trial and sent to Azkaban (or worse, kissed by the Dementors) and blood-traitors like the Weasleys were hailed as heroes. _Damn their eyes!_

And Rabastan Lestrange had lost his family because the sister of his sister-in-law switched sides at the last moment – certainly to protect that precious son she was so fond of. He now had only one reason to go on: vengeance! He would not rest until he had eliminated the family that had caused his lord's demise, eliminated all other blood-traitors, of whom Molly Weasley would be the first to taste his wrath, followed by the rest of her strange ginger-haired litter.

And now Yaxley had been caught by the Aurors. He only hoped that that fool would keep his mouth shut, and not reveal any of their plans to save his own sorry skin.

Flinging his robe over a covered chaise, he opened a cupboard and poured himself a glass of firewhisky, downing it in two large gulps. "We'll have to wait for our next move. The Aurors were stationed at the Weasleys' shack, and caught one of us there. Their protection will only be increased. And now the Malfoys are warned, as well."

"Have you seen the boy?" one of the younger Death-Eaters asked, scratching a chin covered with a three-day-beard.

"Yes, he was out at the lake with a girl. He saw us but I don't think he recognized me or Walden. We were too far away."

MacNair began to chuckle. "But he was put on notice from Rabastan. The boy seemed to have forgotten what the Dark Mark is capable of." He glanced at the other. "The girl acted quickly, I must admit. Her defending-charm was quite powerful and-"

"It was the Mudblood. I recognized her disorderly mop when she threw up the protection charm against my ... um ... gentle reminder that no one leaves our circle for good." Whispers of disbelief and shame were heard among the others.

"How low can someone sink – especially the so-called 'noble house of Malfoy'! Now the boy is courting that Mudblood, a best friend of Potter! I can't believe it!" Dolohov growled, shaking his head. "He brings shame on every pureblood in the world!"

"Not for much longer, Antonin, be sure of it," Rabastan said. Something of the chill in his voice made everyone else grow quiet, and heads turned toward him. "I will take personal delight in killing the boy myself, and watching Narcissa's face when she learns of the torture and death of her beloved son in glorious detail before she follows him straight to hell, along with her cowardly husband." He poured himself a second drink. "I need more information, my friends, about when the boy will leave the school grounds. As I remember, there are certain weekends that the students are allowed to go to Hogsmeade. I want to know _when_."

"I might be able to get that information, Lestrange."

Everyone turned toward a tall, muscular man, whose hairy countenance surrounded gleaming eyes, revealing an insatiable hunger to any who looked. As he crossed his large arms and smiled, he showed sharp yellow teeth. His voice had a rough edge as he continued: "I had the pleasure of persuading one of Hogsmeade's inhabitants to join my family. The boy is quite satisfied with his new existence and was able to avoid all attempts to catch him by the Hogwarts' teachers. He works in the greenhouse where two of the professors work on regular basis. I'm certain that he will learn the dates and report them to us."

Rabastan lifted one dark brow. "That would be helpful, Greyback. But I know you. You do nothing without payment. What do you want?"

Fenrir examined his dark, long fingernails and smirked a distinctly wolfish smile, before he licked his lips. "When the students come to Hogsmeade, you can do as you like with young Malfoy. His family offended me, yes, but vengeance toward them is all yours. I only want a certain girl that slipped through my fingers." He glanced up, the feral greed in his eyes made half of those present shudder. "I want the Granger-girl, the Mudblood. Give her to me, and the traitor's son is yours on their next visit to Hogsmeade."

Rabastan starred at him, his gorge rising a little, then he chuckled. "Do I want to know what you have in mind for the little bitch?" Greyback shrugged and grinned. Lestrange sighed in a strange amusement. "All right, Fenrir, we have a deal." He flung the sheet off a long table, drawing chairs up to it with a flick of his wand. "And now we must plan the next two or three weeks. We will now entertain ideas about how to wreak vengeance against the Ministry, and not get caught!"

TBC…

_Well, what do you think about the so-called 'new leader' and his intentions? Be sure, Lestrange will bring much trouble._

_In the next chapter the relationship between Hermione and Draco will have some serious turns, which will lead to a change both would never have thought of._

_Until next time,_

_Have a nice week and please do not forget to review._

_Love,_

_Lywhn_


	12. A Reputation To Save

_Hi, my dear Readers,_

_I am so, so sorry that it lasted longer until this new update came, but first my dear friend Cheetah had a computer-crash as she was almost done with beta-reading the new chapter, and she had to do it again, and then her sent mail with the update landed in my SPAM, and I didn't realize it (shame on me, I think I need spectacles… UNGH!)_

_But now, at last, you can hopefully enjoy the next part of the story. This time our two Head-students will find themselves in situations, they never had thought possible: both have the odd drive to help each other, very much to the confusion of the others and to their own. And the matter of our Egyptian 'friends' will take a further step._

_At this point I want to thank you for all the nice reviews and the suggestions. Yes, I know that the story develops slowly, but Rowling did in her books the same, and concerning the one or other swearing – well, the war changed all our heroes more or less, but I will hold it more short._

_I hope you're going to like the next part; it will be a base for others actions yet to come._

_Please let some reactions,_

_Have fun,_ _Y_

_ours Lwyhn_

**Chapter 11 – A Reputation to Save**

It wasn't even six o'clock in the morning when Hermione Jean Granger flung back the sheet and hastened into the bathroom, took a quick, cool shower and readied herself for the day. The dolphins normally gambolling in the windows were nowhere to be seen, and, if a Muggle had asked why, the answer would have been: because it's still night for them. The young witch didn't waste a moment with the scene in the stained glass windows, for her thoughts were far away. She hadn't slept well again last night, but not just because of nightmares (exacerbated by the previous night's events) but also because of her sunburn. Her shoulders and the backs of her legs still stung, especially as she dressed. She snatched up the little bottle of lotion from Madame Pomfrey and left before 6:30, heading for the library. She hoped to ask Ginny to apply it for her. The rain continued, though it fell more softly now. Passing an open window, she could tell the weather had cooled.

The library was still closed, but Madame Pince, the librarian, had given Hermione the password to unlock the door, trusting her most diligent and book-loving scholar not to abuse this knowledge. She was soon searching through the very familiar shelves for more information about the Egyptian legends and gods they might have seen last night. When Madame Pince arrived precisely at eight o'clock, Hermione was deep into her research with seven or eight books around her on one of the long ancient library table. Shaking her head, the librarian allowed the girl to work in peace, and half an hour later, Hermione asked permission to take three books with her.

With her loot wrapped securely in her arms and her bag over her shoulder, she was on her way to the Great Hall when she ran into four Slytherin boys of the fifth and seventh year lurking around a column in the quiet entrance hall. She looked at them curiously, and they gaped at her, in full throttle with her schoolbag and books, since most students used Saturday for a lie-in.

"I don't believe it!" one said loudly. "Saturday morning and her arms are _still_ full of books!"

Hermione recognized Claus Harper, the seventh year substitute Seeker for the Slytherin house Quidditch team, a "blockhead on a broomstick" as Ginny loved to describe him.

Malcolm Baddock, a tall fifth year, evaluated her with a critical expression. "What tactics did you use against the Dark Lord, Granger? Fling old editions of the encyclopaedia at him? Read aloud from them until he was _bored_ to death?"

Hermione decided to ignore them, but she didn't get far, as two of the boys blocked her way, glaring down at her. The girl sighed, in no mood for a quarrel. "Move!" she said simply, and when the two boys didn't react, she tried again to walk around them. A wand appeared in front of her and Harper snapped, "You. Don't. Order. Us. Around, Mudblood!"

Hermione lifted her chin, choosing her words. It was odd. That awful name didn't sting, coming from these students, not like when Malfoy used it, but she didn't have the time to think about this new development. She had to hold her ground and try to resolve this before it escalated. "Is there a reason you're looking for trouble?" she asked, inwardly berating herself for leaving her wand in her bag, out of reach with the books in her arms. She had to remember to keep herself prepared, even in Hogwarts!

"Trouble?"

The other fifth year sauntered over, hands in his pockets. "What luck! The Mudblood is challenging us."

Harper nodded. "Feeling pretty spikey, aren't you, _Granger_, after your mate Potter defeated the Dark Lord and you were made Head-Girl. Aren't you, _Granger_?"

She looked at him, head cocked to one side, and asked sweetly, "So, how would you like it if the Head-Girl generously donates detention to you during your all of your Quidditch practises, Harper?"

Another wand appeared beside her. "Hiding behind your position, Her-my-oh-nee?" The last of the four boys confronted Hermione, a thin poncy looking boy with a sharp nose and chin and pretty eyes, almost snarling, those eyes speaking threats.

Patience now used up, the girl looked at him evenly. "I never hide! I am a Gryffindor and not a cowardly Slytherin!" she said loudly, looking momentarily like a tawny lioness, narrowed flashing eyes and her body tensed. "I've faced werewolves and Death Eaters, and called a convicted murderer my friend. You don't frighten me."

"Ah, the famous Gryffindor courage. You're going to need it, Granger, so hang on to it!" Harper hissed, red sparks beginning to issue out of his wand tip.

"What, pray, is the meaning of this?"

The voice was calm, dangerous – and well-known to them all. Her tormenters raised their eyes to see the newcomer descending the stair behind the Head-Girl. Harper grinned. "Draco, old friend, want to play, too?"

Granger glanced over her shoulder, finding the cold gaze of the other Head approaching, clad completely in black. "What, you're playing with her? Is she suddenly your type?" he asked mockingly.

"Can you imagine, she wanted to order us around!" Baddock reported sarcastically, and Malfoy smirked.

"Oh, she excels at that, I agree." He closed the distance to them, taller even than Harper by one or two inches. His eyes shifted to their spitting wands aimed at the girl, then to the books in her arms and no wand in sight. He sighed, surprising even himself when he said, "Leave her alone."

"WHAT?" Four jaws dropped.

"Did I stutter? Leave her alone!" he repeated firmly. When he made a decision, he stood by it.

"Are you standing up for the Mudblood, Malfoy?" the other fifth year asked, disbelieving, his face darkening.

"She's Head-Girl, Andrew, like it or not, and therefore – unfortunately – my partner. So put your wands away, boys, and let her pass." His voice and face were casual, but his eyes were dangerous.

"You're protecting this filthy geek – again?" Baddock shook his head. "You saved her mixed-blood skin out there in the Forbidden Forest and now you stand between her and some friendly jibes from Slytherin house? My father was right, Malfoy, you're a traitor – like your whole stinking family!"

Hermione thought Draco's eyes were beginning to shoot red sparks, too. "My parents-" he began, jaw clenched.

"Your father is a spineless loser and your mother is a lying floozy and they're BOTH-"

Hermione knew it was coming, knew him too well and his loyalty toward his parents, but she was too slow to stop him. His wand was out in the twinkling of an eye.

"_Verdimillious_!"

A green flash erupted from his wand hit Baddock full in the chest, knocking him off his feet, sending him skidding across the floor of the entrance hall.

Draco followed up immediately with "_Furnunculus_!"

The next spell was out before Baddock hit the floor, and seconds later, boils were spreading all over Malcolm's face and hands, spreading quickly, the boy now yelling in anger and obvious pain. "Draco, NO!" Hermione cried, before he could use another.

"Have you lost your _mind_, Malfoy?" Harper stood staring at the Head-Boy's wand, wondering if something was coming his way.

The storm-grey eyes, snapping with fury, now turned on him. "_NO ONE_ talks about my family like that! You should know it the best!" Draco yelled, his face now dark with wrath. "And concerning her, ask yourself, how much courage does it take to threaten a single girl, outnumbered by _four_ boys? Who is the coward here, Harper? Tell me _that_!"

Harper stepped in front of him, an inch away from the wand, his own blue eyes dark slits. "As I recall, _Draco_, you, Crabbe and Goyle did the same many times since we've been here."

Malfoy stood his ground, chin proudly lifted, his pointed face a mask of bitter fury. "I never tried to injure her, like you were about to do. And I was a child then. Children often act without thought. If you haven't grown up at all in the past year, I think we might have to give your position in the Quidditch team to someone more mature. We do not need little _boys_ to win the cup this year, but strong men!" For a long moment, they stood facing each other, panting, until Harper lowered his gaze and moved aside. In the background, Malcolm was whimpering about his boils, one of his house knelt beside him.

"What about him?" Harper snapped.

Draco lifted a brow. "Boil Cure Potion, Harper, first year Potions. I'm sure you can handle it."

Turning on his heel, he strode toward the Great Hall, pulling Hermione roughly after him. "And you, Granger, should know it better than to boss around one of us!"

"I was simply walking to the Great-"

"I helped you because it's my duty, but don't think I'll stand against my own house again!" His voice was loud enough for the other four boys to hear, then he shoved the surprised girl ahead of him through the great portal. He headed to the Slytherin table. He had to clear his mind.

He cursed under his breath. _Why – __why__! – had he defended her once again? And against his own house?_ If he had expected trouble with the Slytherins before, he was certainly facing a steep uphill battle now. He couldn't remember when a Slytherin had ever stood up for a Gryffindor before. Worse, a Muggle-born! He would run into walls from this day on, he knew. Even those who had not blamed him for switching sides at the end of the Second Wizarding War would not overlook his attack on one of his own house. Yes, he had taunted house mates before but this was a hippogriff of a different colour. He'd never used magic against one of them to retain his status within the house hierarchy. But to protect another one who didn't belong to Slytherin – well!

Someone who'd been hunted by Purebloods only weeks before ...

Someone everyone at Hogwarts knew to be his personal enemy ... !

But when he'd descended the stair and seen Granger encircled by four large boys, wands already spitting sparks, something made him act without thinking. Mocking her, taunting her was one thing, but threatening physical injury was another, and he wouldn't tolerate it. Those _children _hadn't seen a tithe of the cruelty he'd witnessed in the last year, and he was tired of this whole hateful game that was no game at all.

Then, when Malcolm vomited those horrid names, he'd snapped. He knew that most of Voldemort's secret admirers would blame those who'd turned away from him. But hearing his highborn, elegant mother slandered in that manner had been too much for his already stressed sensibilities. Most of what he had grown up thinking was right or wrong had been ripped to shreds, his acknowledged truths had been proven to be lies, and the world had for him become a chaos he still had to sort out. Mudbloods and blood traitors had proven more powerful, more _honourable_, than the Purebloods he'd been raised to emulate. He'd been shown compassion that saved his life, compassion he would never have shown nor expected from _anyone._ Since his return to Hogwarts, he felt like he was sitting with both buttocks between two chairs set on different levels, like he was traversing a narrow path across a high cliff, footing crumbling away beneath him, and feeling more helpless than ever and more out of place.

It was no wonder he had overreacted moments ago! His universe was hanging upside-down, former friends were virtual opponents now (or even enemies, seeing as his uncle and the other Death Eaters were now hunting him and his parents) and those he'd always considered foes were showing him understanding. Forgiveness.

Like Granger did.

He shook his head, remembering the look of relief in her eyes when she'd turned to him on the stairs, and it made him dizzy. She shouldn't be looking at him like that! She must not act toward him as if he were a friend, for he was _not_. And she must not try to help him with his problems. But she did, after everything he'd done and said to her over their school career, and it unnerved him. And attracted him. Like a moth to the flame. She shouldn't concern herself about what was going on in his family, or that some of his father's associates were out to kill his family. But she did care. And he did not welcome the gratitude that had taken residence in his heart for her concern, because it was so ... very ... wrong.

"I think 'you look like hell' is the phrase you're using in your country," an accented youthful, masculine voice said, startling Draco out of his thoughts. He only now realized that **a)** he was seated at the Slytherin table, **b)** his breakfast sat untouched before him and **c)** the young Egyptian man had taken a seat beside him. Draco sighed. 'Zoning out' first thing in the morning really didn't suit a Malfoy.

"Rough night," he answered. Wait - Abdel sat next to him, one of the four after whose arrival odd events had initiated, culminating in the approaching shadows in the form of ancient gods only last night. Shoving his own problems to the back of his mind, he turned his attention to the other young man, taking in his dishevelled appearance. Interesting!

"Not sleeping?" he asked innocently.

Abdel shrugged. "Your English thunderstorm. We rarely have them in Egypt. Perhaps near the sea or the gulf, but never inland, where I live."

Poker-faced, Draco nodded slowly. "Understandable." His glance found the Gryffindor table, and Neriman – nodding with sleep over her breakfast. "Your friend seems to have the same problem!" he said thoughtfully.

Abdel followed his look and yawned. "Yes, we are all unaccustomed to the noise."

"Mr. Malfoy!"

Draco saw Professor Slughorn striding toward the table, an ominous expression on his face, his earth-brown robes billowing behind him. Abdel's eyebrows rose as he glanced at his comrade. "Doesn't sound good, mate," he mumbled. "Does it have anything to do with the shouting we heard from the entrance hall earlier?"

"Very likely," Malfoy groaned and rose, as the Head of his house stood at the end of the table, indicating he should follow the teacher.

"Mr. Malfoy, my office. Now!"

Draco stiffened and rose, hands clasped behind his back. "Sir, I have not yet breakfasted-"

"I do not care, Mr. Malfoy. My concern lies with your behaviour. Come with me _instantly_!" The Potions Professor was beyond angry, that much the Slytherin could tell. Whispers had started across the hall.

"Go ahead, I'll save a plate for you," Abdel offered. Catching the sharp glare of Slughorn, he added, chin jutted forward, "We are taught from our earliest days to be certain that the needs of our friends are met."

Horace snorted and turned on his heel, jerking his head for Draco to follow, striding back out the hall. Knowing that he was in hot water up to his chin, Draco straightened and followed, feeling every eye in the Great Hall on his back. He was certain that one set was full of worry that the owner even didn't know of…

Harry watched the stiff Slughorn and the resigned Malfoy, slowly shaking his head. "It's only breakfast time, and our dear Head-Boy is already in trouble." He sat down beside Hermione and Ginny took her seat on her other side.

"Good morning, Hermione," she told her, not indicating that had Harry told her what happened last night, and smiled at Neriman, who was now picking at her food. "How are your shoulders feeling?"

"Not so good," Hermione murmured absently, watching the professor and her partner leaving the Great Hall, guessing the reason why.

"Did you bring the lotion with you? I can put some on your shoulders after breakfast, and… Hermione?"

Granger wasn't listening, but rose; her eyes fixed on the retreating teacher and student. "Um … just keep an eye on the books," she murmured and made a move to follow the two, but Harry grabbed her wrist.

"What's the matter? If Malfoy got himself into trouble, it isn't your concern."

She looked down at him, her brown eyes large. "This does concern me. He defended me against four from his house, and in the process he … well, one thing followed the next and one of the boys sent him over the edge."

Potter frowned. "What did they do to you?"

"Nothing, thanks to Draco." He released her wrist. "He hexed one of them, but it wasn't his fault. I'd have done the same thing, but Slughorn doesn't know this." Next moment, Hermione was trotting down the aisle between tables and out of the Great Hall.

Harry watched her go, looking puzzled. "He helped her _again_? He stood up for her against his own house? And Hermione's trying to keep him out of trouble?" Harry squinted, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Has the world gone mad?"

Ginny looked thoughtful. "What do you mean?" she asked, looking at the titles of the books. _'__So, Hermione wants to bring some light to those shadows_.' She would have expected no less from her.

"Well…" Harry sounded perplexed, "saving her while they were on patrol would have kept him out of trouble. But Lord Draco actually defending her against other Slytherins gives me a headache! Malfoy doesn't do anything without a purpose. He's up to something, and I have no clue what it could be."

Ginny straightened out the books. "Maybe he really has changed."

"Malfoy, change? Helping Hermione because of conscience?" He grinned at her. "Really, Ginny, do _you_ believe in storks?"

Ginny sighed and poured orange juice onto her muesli. "You sound like Ron. It doesn't suit you. Stuff happens, Harry. People change when their lives are at stake. Remember what you told me about what Dudley said before they left? You don't know how that changed him. He might not remember your name or face anymore, but he'll remember that someone saved his life at some time. Everyone can see that this one isn't the old Draco Malfoy we learned to loath. He's changed, we just didn't know yet in what way."

Harry did remember. It was right before he came of age, and the Order of the Phoenix had arranged to relocate the Dursleys and to have their memories wiped before the Death Eaters could torture them for Harry's whereabouts. Dudley, to Harry's utter amazement, approached him, and shook his hand, thanking him for saving his life from the Dementors. It was a very strange parting, and he was not yet sure what might come of it.

Hermione bolted down the steps toward the dungeons, where Slughorn's office was located. She'd been here before, when Snape was still Potions professor, but she never felt welcome in this part of the castle. The hallways always lacked warmth and light. Even if the inhabited section of the dungeons had been made comfortable as possible, it always retained the atmosphere of an oubliette.

As she neared the thick wooden door to the office, she could hear Slughorn's raised voice, and he seemed to be having trouble remaining calm. Draco tried to answer, but the professor cut him off, 'completely reckless' and 'shameful behaviour' made their way through the thick door. Hermione took a deep breath, lifted her hand and knocked firmly. The muffled voice fell silent for a moment, before she heard an irritated "Enter!" Quickly she opened it and stepped into the oval-shaped office, with its long shelves full of the wide variety of bottles along the wall, illuminated by a gold-green light, the leather chairs, and the huge desk, covered with parchments and books.

Slughorn turned, brow furled, possibly expecting the headmistress, but certainly not the Head Girl. He stared at her, collecting his thoughts, before he said: "I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but I am occupied just now. We can discuss your additional outside projects at a later time." He was politely asking her to 'get out!' Her eyes darted momentarily to Malfoy, and one look at the mixed expression of hurt and anger was enough to waken her stubborn – and quite inconvenient – desire to help.

"My apologies, Professor, but the topic you're discussing with Draco concerns me as well."

The young man she referred to said hoarsely: "Stay out of it, Granger. It's none of your concern."

" 'None of my concern'?" she replied sharply; wanting him out of the mess before it was too late. "That you protected me from attack? That you tried to reason with Baddock, but that he threatened you and insulted your family in the foulest manner? That you didn't allow him to curse me? For pity's sake, swallow your pride just this once and let me help, because otherwise the truth will never come out."

Draco gaped. _'__What 'truth' is she talking about?'_

Slughorn's frown deepened. "What threat? How are you involved in this … this childish exchange, unworthy of a young man _and_ Head-Boy?" He scowled at Draco.

Hermione took a deep calming breath, knowing full well she had to believe what she was about to say if she wanted to help her partner at all. "Professor, am I correct in assuming that Baddock is accusing Draco of attacking him? And did Harper and the two other boys confirm this?"

Horace sat down behind his desk, folding his hands. "How do you know about it?" he asked, his voice had dialled down a notch.

Moving further into the room, she answered: "Because I was there. I can tell you exactly what happened." Draco opened his mouth, but before he could speak, she continued: "Harper, Baddock and two of their friends accosted me in the entrance hall on my way to breakfast. They insulted me, and when I didn't react, they closed up around me and threatened me, saying I would need my courage for the things yet to come. Then Draco came down the stairs and told them to leave me alone, but they didn't listen to him. They threatened me again, Harper's wand already showed some red sparks, and Draco tried to reason with them." She took another deep breath, ready to do go against her own rules, but Malfoy had protected her and she had to repay him for it, no matter what.

So she continued: "He tried to defuse the situation. They turned on him then, because he shielded me. They called him vile names and viciously insulted his parents." She hated to lie to a teacher, but she had to go on now. "Baddock was about to hex him and Draco defended me and himself by throwing him back with the _verdimillio _spell, which we know is harmless, but Malcolm didn't take the hint, and tried to curse Draco with the_ furnunculo_ jinx, but Draco had put up a protection charm, and it backfired." She shrugged. "That's how it happened."

Her partner stared. What she'd said was very close to the truth, but she'd changed one detail to put him in a more favourable light. Hopefully it was enough to spare him expulsion from school. Perhaps only detention and a letter home. His father would be appalled that he had hexed members of his own house. Granger had boldly lied to help him ... and he didn't know if he liked it.

Slughorn fixed the girl with a look, obviously trying to decide if he should believe her version of the events or not. Hermione returned his scrutiny appearing calm, confident. He pursed his lips and addressed the other, "Is that how it happened, Mr. Malfoy?"

For a fraction of a moment, Draco wanted to say 'no'. He didn't want Granger's help saving his neck. He could handle his own troubles himself, but another part of him said he wouldn't skip the gallows by clinging to his pride. If he didn't confirm the Gryffindor's story, he could be expelled from Hogwarts for attacking another student. And the future lying before him was already difficult enough without being kicked out of school. Besides that, little Miss Goody-Two-Shoes would get in trouble, too, being caught in a lie to a professor. Losing her status as Head-Girl would be the smallest consequence for her.

'_Besides that, it's just practical to agree with her.'_

All this went through his mind in the time it took him to cross his arms, and say, "Yes." He could feel her eyes on him as he faced the Head of his house. "By the way, Sir, you're asking if Miss _Granger_ is speaking the truth, you should know it's a waste of breath. Believe me, she is the worst kind of liar I ever met. I've found she is completely unable to speak an untruth." Hermione wondered if this were an insult or a compliment.

Horace slid one hand through his grey hair and sighed; missing the quick looks the two students exchanged. "So we have two different accounts, and yours is backed up by the testimony of Miss Granger." He glared up at the two again. "If it had come from anyone else, young lady, I would have to investigate this event. I know that students jinx and hex each on occasion, but an open attack is a different issue." He stared at Draco, who held his frown, mouth clenched, and sighed. "If the history between you two wasn't so well-known to everyone, I might assume that she was attempting to get you out of a tight spot, Mr. Malfoy. But considering that Miss Granger has told me her version of the incident, I'm more inclined to believe her than Harper or Baddock. I know them very well, as their teacher, and if they threatened you, your protection charm isn't a violation, but was done in self-defence."

Draco did not dare to exhale, even after Slughorn's next words. "You're dismissed."

"What of the other four?" the Head-Boy asked. Hermione bit her tongue, suppressing the urge to slap the back of Malfoy's head.

The professor snorted. "They will be given detention for threatening the Head-Girl and for their infantile behaviour. Mr. Baddock has his punishment already. He is in the hospital wing and Madame Pomfrey is brewing the antidote for him. Perhaps this will teach them a lesson." He sat down behind his desk. "Now, both of you, get out of here and enjoy your Saturday."

Nodding politely, the two left the office and walked wordlessly through the hallway. They were barely out of earshot, before Malfoy whirled to face Hermione, standing in her way, his eyes his flaring anger. "What in blazes was that?" he hissed.

She lifted a brow. "That was _me_ saving _you_ from getting into real trouble," she replied, irritated by his lack of gratitude.

"You lied – to a teacher no less! For _me_!" He shook his head. "Why?" It was practically an accusation.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You helped me, I helped you, end of story."

"Don't do that!" he snapped, sounding even more infuriated. "Stop being a - a bloody saint around me, and-"

Her mouth fell open. "A 'saint'? Is that what you think when others care enough to help you?" Her voice grew louder. "You really are thick, Malfoy! Carry on like this and someday you'll end up just the way you like it – abandoned and alone."

"_WHY DO YOU CARE?" _

His voice echoed from the walls, while he gripped her shoulders, as if to shake some sense into her, ignoring her painful wincing from the sunburn. "On the train, you made it clear that you would never forgive me for the past, but suddenly you act as if it's irrelevant, if I'm in trouble. That's crazy, Granger! I haven't asked for your help. I don't want it. I made myself clear when I told you to stay the hell away from me, but still you have to be such _a holier-than-thou good Samaritan_!"

Hermione returned his fierce stare, and ignored his question, asking, "What are you so afraid of, Malfoy? Afraid to admit that you could use a hand here or there, or maybe that you were mistaken concerning certain people?"

"Like you and Scar-head?" he yelled back, shocked that she had come so close to figuring him out. "You, of all people, trying to HELP me, even sending that ridiculous house-elf to check on my parents for _me_ and-"

"- and you're feeling ashamed of it after all that's happened and what Slughorn called 'our history'," she interrupted him, driving still deeper into his mystery.

It felt like hot water had just filled Draco's body, as it struck him that she really could see through him that easily. And this new vulnerability was intolerable. This had to stop! "The only thing I'm ashamed of is the fact that a _lowly Mudblood_ has decided to play happy Holy Mary towards the 'naughty Death-Eater'." He had hit a nerve, he could tell as her face fell. And even though he felt bad about it, he couldn't stop himself from adding: "After all, I have a reputation to uphold and you're attempting to destroy it by making everyone think I'm not capable of handling my own problems. So save your prissy help for somebody who truly wants it!"

She pulled away from him, hurt evident in the set of her eyebrows. "Oh, don't worry about your reputation, Malfoy. It's still intact. Everyone knows you're nothing more than a spoiled brat. Noble Malfoy, hah! I wouldn't expect you thank me for saving your neck back there. I don't want to be responsible for your death, because you would certainly choke on the words!"

With that she ran off, tears of fury and hurt stinging her eyes.

He saw the hurt, and said to himself, _'__Too bad!' _Only seconds later he wanted to smack himself and apologize to the bushy-haired irritant retreating down the hallway ahead of him, head bowed. _'Sometimes you're really a jackass, Malfoy!' _the unwelcome voice in his head whispered and he closed his eyes. Now he even felt guilty for making her upset.

He was about to reach a dead end.

"Hardnosed, self-centred, ungrateful, priggish, insolent, arrogant ferret-faced _GIT_!"

Hermione threw her fork onto the table, not even taking a bite of her breakfast. " 'Highborn manners' – my sweet derriere! I've never met anyone so rude or so impudent as that miserable _Slytherin!_ Angels and ministering spirits defend me, or the next time I see him I will hex him all the way into the _next week!"_

Ginny and Harry stared at her. "Anyone we know?" Harry managed, then began to laugh. Neriman looked at her wide-eyed. They knew she had a temper, but hadn't seen her in such a rage for a long time. Her face was distorted by her scowl, tears in her eyes. She looked ready to commit murder. Ginevra Weasley wrapped an arm around her shoulder, stifling her giggles. "What did he do this time, 'Mione?" The expression 'Still waters run deep' fitted Hermione well. She, the studious bookworm, could penetrate your pretences like a spear, or go off like a bomb when the right buttons were pushed. And Malfoy seemed to know which buttons had to be pushed and delighted in pushing them.

"He can rot in detention next time! I. Do. Not. Care. Anymore! He wears his nose so high it could hide in his hair. Pride comes before a fall – and I will be cheering and dancing when he finally finds himself face down in the mud. Then he can see how much that pure blood is good for!"

Neriman, who swallowed a yawn, watched her, amused. "He really worked on your nerves, didn't he?"

"Ha, that child has a long way to go before he gets the better of me!" She reached for her juice and emptied the glass in one gulp.

Luna, who was just passing between tables, stopped and smiled down at Hermione, her blue eyes less distracted than usual. "Oh, I think he's already succeeded, but don't be upset, Hermione. Things will happen to make you see each other in a different light. It's already started."

A sharp glare from brown eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

A one-shoulder shrug from the pale Ravenclaw. "Just wait."

Harry cleared his throat. "Uh, Luna, what's that around your neck?" He was referring to an unrecognisable fist-sized silver and red object hanging about her neck on a leather strap. The students were pretty well accustomed to the unorthodoxy of Luna Lovegood, but this 'necklace' was just too strange not to mention.

Luna picked up the lavaliere and glanced down at it. "It's a talisman against Fwoopers," she explained gently.

"Fwoopers?" Ginny scratched her head. "I thought you only find them in Africa."

"Yes, and they're only sold with a silence charm, because their singing can literally drive you insane," Harry added.

"Oh, but if the silence charm wears off before you can renew it, this talisman protects you." Luna waved. "Bye, all, and say hello to Ronald for me." She ambled out of the hall, humming to herself.

"You have Fwoopers here in Hogwarts?" the Egyptian girl asked as soon as Luna was out of earshot.

"No, but Luna loves to be prepared for anything," Potter sighed. He didn't feel like explaining his friend to their visitor. Neriman would figure out Luna herself.

Luna had proven to be the oil on Hermione's troubled waters – she had a talent for soothing others with her soft, low voice and her curious eccentricities, murmuring irrelevancies. Hermione took her library books in her arms and stood up. "I'm off. I have work to do."

Ginny put her hand on the Head Girl's arm. "Would you like me to put some lotion on your shoulders?" she asked, and Hermione guessed what her friend really wanted: detailed information about last evening.

"I'll come with you to the Gryffindor tower then. Bye, Harry."

"Ron will be released from the hospital wing around midday!" he called after her and Hermione turned while she walked.

"I'll be there!" she replied, Ginny right behind her.

Later, after Hermione had given a full report of the evening's events to her friend, she put the last book aside and stretched out on Ginny's bed. Ginny sat alongside her, leaning against the headboard, and lowered the book. "And the library?"

"Nothing," Granger sighed. "Nothing I was looking for, at any rate. There was the usual bit about the magical skills of Anubis and the others, what powers they used, rituals et cetera, but nothing about the basics. How did they make progress, where they connected with each other, what were their purposes? And who could the other two be that Harry and I saw?" She didn't mention Malfoy as the third one who'd seen the 'shadows'. She turned her head toward the other girl. "If we want to understand this, we need to know more about them – and not only from the wizarding point of view, but the Muggles', too. They've explored and developed quite a bit within the last few decades about ancient Egypt and decoded the Hieroglyphs and cuneiform script. They've also solved many of the riddles and secrets of this vanished culture." She sighed deeply. "What I would give to search the web now."

"Web?" Ginny frowned. "Like a spider's?"

Hermione blinked, not understanding the question, then she remembered that her friend had never been exposed to Muggle technology (aside from her father's love of electric plugs and cars), especially not one that was expanding by the minute. So, for a few minutes, the Head-Girl tried to explain t the concept of computers and the world wide web, but it turned into a full tutoring session, including descriptions of the modern telephone systems and the functions of satellites, which led to the next topic, astronauts. When she finally was finished, Ginny looked completely baffled and a little fearful.

"But… but what do are they looking for between the stars or on the moon? They have no concept of the magical power there," she asked in a quiet voice.

Hermione shrugged. "Just satisfying curiosity."

"But … they still don't understand how this planet works, or anything about the wizarding world, and they're searching for new worlds to sate their curiosity?" Ginny shook her head. "Don't get me wrong, but Muggles are VERY strange!"

"Yeah, I agree." Hermione sat up. "But access to the web would be a great help right now."

The other girl propped her chin in her hand. "Do your parents have a-a-a connuter?"

"Computer," Hermione corrected her and nodded. "Yeah, they have. Not every home has one, not yet, but my parents are always interested in any new technical developments and a computer and internet access is certainly a big help. I dare say that in the next five or six years most everyone will have one. Why do you ask?" Hermione answered, looking curiously at her friend.

"You can contact your mother, and maybe she can have a look at this web, then it can tell her about the Egyptian gods from ancient times. Maybe she can write it down for you and send it back by owl."

Hermione was not in the mood to explain that Muggles didn't write by hand much anymore, but used a printer. Then it hit her. A grin spread over her face. "Ginny, you're a genius!" she screeched in delight. She swung her feet off the bed and ran to the door. "Bring some parchment and your quill with you, will you?"

"What's going on?"

The grin grew wider. "Give me a few minutes, and then we can go to the owlery. You'll see, tomorrow at the latest I have the information I need."

Glad to see her friend smiling again, Ginny did as she was asked. Hermione scribbled out a letter in the common room, and minutes later the two girls were on their way to a side-entrance, and from there to the lone tower that held the owlery. It was still raining, but it was down to a light sprinkle. The temperature had fallen, and the grateful damp earth sent sweet odours into the air. They climbed the steep circling staircase and Hermione sent one of the school's owls away to her home, hoping her mother was available and would do her the favour of a bit of research for her.

Leaving the owlery, Hermione turned to close the door when a movement caught her attention. They could see a good distance from the top of the tower, and it was easy to spot the lonely figure walking outside of the school grounds, straight toward the mountains behind the castle. The clouds hung low and the day was a muddy grey, but still the Gryffindor could made out the long robe and the fez – worn only by their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

"What's he doing outside in this weather?" she asked, and pointed towards the disappearing silhouette. Ginny turned and followed her direction, and narrowed her eyes, recognizing the Egyptian teacher, too. "You wouldn't expect him to be out taking a stroll in the rain, would you?"

Ginny looked speculative. "Perhaps he doesn't get much chance to walk in the rain in Egypt."

The two girls exchanged a look, then they descended the circular stair. It was about time for Ron to be released from the hospital-wing. They would have a lot to report to him, for example, that their new teacher was leaving the castle grounds …

TBC…

_Well, a crash-lesson for Ginny in Muggle-study of the special way (laugh). And concerning Harper and Baddock: there will some serious things coming because of the whole encounter, be sure of it, and the two Slytherins will find themselves involved in something they never dreamed of (later)._

_In the next chapter our Golden Trio solves some riddles and finds answers about the Egyptian ancient belief, the school and how their guests are connected by an old force. Also Hermione and Draco will have another small fight that ends with our Gryffindor-girl playing a prank at our Slytherin-Prince that is spicy – literary._

_I don't know, if Cheetah manages it to beta-read the new chapter until Friday, because I am off to a vacation from Saturday until the 4__th__ of October, so if not, please be not angry._

_I hope you enjoyed the update and I would be happy to receive new reviews._

_Love you all,_

_Yours Lyhwn_


	13. Research

_Hallo, my dear Readers,_

_I'm sorry that it lasted again a longer time until the next update finally comes, but – as I told you before – I was on holidays, and therefore out of reach, so to say. But now the new chapter is online and I do hope you will enjoy it. Our Golden Trio starts to get some riddles solved, and Draco will face the end of the stick for a prank Hermione pulls out of temper._

_I hope you will like it._

_Love you,_

_Lywhn_

**Chapter 12 – Research**

"WHAT?"

The three of them were attempting to help Ron walk properly. Most of the jinx's effects had worn off by now, but still his legs made occasional movements that none could anticipate.

Hermione, at his side, arm linked with his, hushed him. "Not so loud, Ron! These walls have ears, as you know!"

"And not only ears, there are persons connected to them!" a portrait of an old witch with a green pointed hat and robes from the sixteenth century called out irritably. She'd raised her head from her needlework, obviously having just been awakened from her nap. Her remonstrance was followed by, "Young people today! No respect at all!"

Ginny grumbled, "Shut up, you old grouch!" before she closed the distance to her brother and her friends. "We have to be careful, Ron," she murmured. "Harry, Hermione and Malfoy suspect that our Egyptian students have a hand in this-"

"Malfoy?" Weasley stopped and stared first at Harry, then at Hermione. "What does that git have to do with any of this?"

Harry sighed. "He was there, too – and just as shocked as we were!" he added quickly when he saw the look on Ron's face. They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady and were soon in the Gryffindor common room. One quick look around proved that it was crowded with students, and they saw Neriman sitting on one of the sofas with Wilhelmina, four cats gathered around her. She smiled at them and waved at Ron, her large eyes half-closed.

Ron was greeted loudly by several of the boys, and after a few bouts of teasing, he was glad when Harry helped him up the stairs to their dormitory. Hermione saw the opportunity to talk privately with them and asked Ginny if she'd put some more lotion on her as they passed Neriman.

"Of course!" the redhead nodded, hiding her surprise as the Head Girl made for the boys' dorms, and followed her. (The boys couldn't get into the girls' dorms, but there was no protection charm against the girls going into the boys'. Hermione had pointed it out one day, when Ron asked about this apparent unfairness, that the founders probably thought girls more responsible than boys and didn't bother with protection spells on the stairway to the boys' dormitories.)

Harry glanced back over his shoulder and grinned. "Ladies, you're heading into the lion's den. Do you want to lose your reputations?"

Ginny laughed, while Hermione made a sour face. "Protecting one's reputation seems to be the topic for today. But I couldn't care less what the others say about me. I know the truth about myself and do not deny it, like a certain other person I could name."

"Hmm, he really got you, didn't he?" Ginny asked, entering the dorm of her brother and boyfriend. It was situated in one of the upper floors of the tower and its ancient lead-lined mulled windows revealed a view over a good part of the castle and the land beneath it. Four-poster beds, hung with red and gold curtains and canopies, the boys' chests, some chairs and nightstands completed the furnishings, thick carpets covered the stone floors, and the charmed ceiling showed the skies outside, like the Great Hall. The air was scented with different aftershaves instead of bubble gum, chocolate frogs, and Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans, just one indication of how much the young men living here had changed since they first set foot into this room more than seven years ago.

Harry assisted Ron to his own bed, where he immediately wrapped his arms around his knees, which were very nearly compliant by now. Hermione and Ginny sat on Harry's bed (which he didn't mind one bit). He closed the door and sealed it with a _muffliato_ charm to prevent anyone eavesdropping. Then they filled Ron in regarding the last day's events.

"So…" Ronald finally murmured, shaking his head. "There are ancient Egyptian gods roaming around Hogwarts, but only as shadows. There's a strange looking cat that can charm even Mrs. Norris. Also, you hear voices talking in a foreign language you both have never heard before. And you and Malfoy," he glanced at Hermione, trying not to look accusing, "are certain that the sounds you heard and this mysterious cat are involved with these beings that chased away the werewolf during your first patrol." He stared out the window. "Blimey."

" 'Blimey'? That's all you can muster to say about it, Ron Weasley?" Hermione couldn't believe her ears.

Ginny pursed her lips and ran her fingers through her hair, commenting: "Well, just think about it. It's fascinating. We all, wizards and Muggles, thought they were legends, possibly powerful persons during their time, using magic to increase their influence. They should have been gone for thousands of years, but their shadows are _here_, a continent away from their home, in Great Britain – in _Hogwarts_! So, where there's a shadow, there's something creating it. So, who or what is it? Whose shadows did you see? You're certain that one was Anubis. Right. He isn't hard to identify with his wolf-head, but-"

"Jackal," Hermione sighed. "He had the head of a jackal. The other two I'm not certain. Harry?"

Potter leaned against a couple of pillows in front of the headboard, beside Ron, and cocked his head. "One was a snake, no doubt about it. It appeared last, and I could see the form of a cobra before it transformed into … a human with a snake-head. It had a flat snout and a forked tongue. I could make it out clearly where the torch behind us threw the shadow at the wall. And it was already talking before it changed into a more human form."

"Talking?" Hermione lifted a brow. "There was only a hissing and… Oh!" She nodded in understanding. "Parseltongue."

Harry nodded. "Very likely." For a fraction of a second, he regretted losing the ability to understand the snake language. But just a fraction.

"And the third one?" Ron asked. "You told us about that cat, so maybe the third one had to do with cats of some-"

"I'm sure it was Basted – or Seth, her darker sister," the Head Girl interrupted him. "The shadow was female and the animal's head had a short snout. And don't forget the first animal shadow, and the strange cat that showed up later and almost caught Malfoy. It met Mrs. Norris, who behaved very strangely." She lifted a hand and counted with her fingers: "Anubis, a snake-god and Bastet. Ring any bells?" She deliberately blocked the memory of her partner saying something similar. (She avoided thinking about him, which would only inspire a bad temper.)

"Three of the houses of Ashmounein. Obest, with Basted as its sign, Inpu with a black jackal – Anubis – as its emblem, and finally Uraeus, the cobra and a kind of snake-god," Harry recited and took a deep breath. "It fits together so well it's almost too obvious."

"So, where is the fourth? Sebak, the crocodile?" Ron asked, groaning as his lower legs twitched.

Hermione and Harry looked at each other. True, the fourth was missing. "Maybe Laya is ill?" Granger asked, looking from one to another.

Potter walked over to his bed and yanked his trunk from underneath. "Hold it, I've an idea." He whispered a charm, opened it and searched inside, and came up with an old soiled piece of parchment. He grinned, tapping it gently with his wand and murmuring, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Instantly spot of ink spread across the front, past the folds and took over the rest of the parchment, finally revealing the words: _"Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers, are proud to present THE MARAUDER'S MAP"._ Harry thought of the history of the map with fondness as he unfolded the map that displayed every part of Hogwarts and its grounds. Hundreds of tiny moving, overlapping labels lingered in the four common-rooms, in the hallways and in the library, pinpointing the location of every student and teacher at every moment, except the Room of Requirement. You couldn't fool the map. It identified each individual, whatever form or transformation he or she had gone through. It illustrated the secret passages that even the professors didn't know of. It was a useful tool, created by Harry's father, James, and his two friends, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, as well as their fellow, Peter Pettigrew, when they attended Hogwarts as boys. (Pettigrew turned out to be the worst traitor possible by betraying Harry's parents to Voldemort during the First Wizarding War). Harry was very grateful to Fred and George for donating it to him in his third year, after they 'nicked' it from Filch's office. It had served him well over the last five years, and he hoped to have it with him as long as he was there.

He laid it by the girls, and they scanned the parchment. They quickly found Neriman downstairs in the Gryffindor common room. Abdel was walking toward the kitchen and Edis was obviously with Luna in the Ravenclaw common room, possibly as befuzzled by her conversation as the rest of them were. He finally found Layla in the library, and – if he wasn't mistaken – near the forbidden area, where books of black and ancient magic was kept. Her label moved to another shelf, and from there to the next one, as if she were searching for something.

Harry pointed to the four names. "They're busy, it seems. But I don't trust them. They're up to something." He frowned. "Where is Ghani?" He tried to find the teacher, looking in McGonagall's office, then to her classroom, but Hermione spoke up.

"He went outside for a walk. Ginny and I saw him leaving the school grounds when we were in the owlery. I sent a letter to my mom and asked her to do some research of the Muggle records about Anubis and Company."

Potter nodded approvingly, being familiar with the Muggle internet, and Ron snorted: "Taking a walk? In the rain? What's that about?"

"Walking in the rain might be a treat for him," Ginny said. "Don't forget how hot and dry it is in Egypt. Rain is rare there." She sighed. "Well, what shall we do now?"

"We've no proof that they mean any harm. They came here as students, and they've fit in alright so far. Maybe they're only planning a prank for Halloween or something like that," Harry said, thinking out loud. "We shouldn't judge them too quickly."

"They're transforming, Harry," Hermione added quietly. "They have to be Animagi, if they can change into animals, but I don't think Professor McGonagall knows about them," and she locked eyes with her friend. "We both saw animals at first and then…" She shrugged.

"Great! Our guests are Animagi that change into ancient Egyptian gods that can frighten werewolves." Ginny rubbed her face. "I'm so glad this is my last year here."

Harry hugged her with one arm, and pecked a kiss on her cheek. "At least we're in this together," he told her, smiling.

Ron cleared his throat. "Whoa, too much for these delicate eyes!"

Ginny shot him a look. "That's too much? Try this!" She leaned forward and captured her boyfriend's lips with hers. They parted with a loud _smack_, hearing Hermione giggle and her brother moan. They grinned at each other.

"Well," the Head-Girl smirked and looked at Ron expectantly. "At least they can show their affection."

He stared at her uncomprehendingly, then complained: "They can't keep their hands off each other. It's creepy sometimes."

Hermione hid her disappointment, even as she felt the sinking feeling in her stomach. She pulled the Marauder's Map toward her for an excuse not to look at Ron, immediately finding the little scrip with the Head Boy's name in their common room, accompanied by a very thin and faded name at the fireplace that might be that of his father. So, he was contacting his parents again. At least he took the situation with the Death Eaters seriously, if nothing else.

Sighing she handed the map back to Harry, he tapped again with his wand. "Mischief managed!" he whispered and the ink disappeared, leaving once again what appeared to be an old piece of parchment. They could only wait now until their guests made the next move.

The rest of the day the four friends tossed theories back and forth as to what their guests might be up to. Hermione also did some additional research in the library, trying to determine what associations might exist between England and ancient Egypt in the wizarding world, but, except for the exchanges of charms, problems of Muggle liaisons, etc, and the highly regulated magical creature trade, she found nothing to help her. Ancient artefacts of both cultures had been exchanged as gifts, and there had always been gatherings of representatives of each culture concerning the handling of magic, but nothing seemed to explain the current situation.

Afterwards, Hermione tried to find out about Egyptian Animagi and if it were normal for them to turn into something besides animals, but once again her beloved books were giving her incomplete or irrelevant answers to her questions. Some earlier Animagi had become jackals or snakes, and she knew one person now living who would transform into a cat - McGonagall herself took this form.

She managed to grab a plate of food before dinner disappeared, and vanished upstairs into the Head Student's area with it and several more books from the library that she wanted to peruse before she went to bed. Of course she found her partner in the common room, but only spared him the time for a dirty look, then headed up to her room, intending to ignore the brat. Unfortunately Malfoy had other plans.

"They caught Yaxley," he said without looking up from the book in his lap.

Hermione stopped. She knew that this was one of the Death Eaters who had invaded Hogwarts and was responsible, along with the others, for Dumbledore's death. "Good!" was all she said and moved again toward the stair when Draco's voice froze her in place once again.

"He said that the war isn't over. He announced that those who brought Voldemort down would share his fate." His glance rose to meet hers. "They're after the Weasleys now."

Hermione paled, forgetting completely that she didn't want to speak to him at the moment. "Did … will they ... are they warned? Did your father mention anything about it?"

Draco lifted one brow, his silver eyes narrowed. "How do you know that I have that information from my father?"

"Oh, please, Malfoy, where else could you hear it?" she huffed. "He contacted you yesterday after he and your mother returned from the Ministry to identify the Death Eater who was arrested. So, of course, he's the one who must have told you about it." It was logical, after all. Harry's map was a secret and it had to stay that way.

A mild look of surprise flickered in the Slytherin's eyes. She really was bright, even if she was wrong about when he'd heard about it. His father contacted him this morning, telling him about the new Aurors in the Manor and that there were new ones assigned to protect the red-headed 'blood-traitors'. "The Ministry sent Aurors to pick the Weasleys up and also warned that dragon handler and Fleur. I'm certain they're fine and will send the Weaselette and your wonker an owl as soon as possible."

Ignoring the insulting appellations, Hermione turned, watching him carefully. Was this a peace offering? If so, it wasn't very effective, but a start, nonetheless. Her anger toward his outburst this morning had not cooled, however. "If you are attempting to make up for your outrageous behaviour this morning, then you can-

"I do not have to make _anything_ up to you, Granger. You phrased it perfectly this morning: 'I helped you, you helped me, end of story.' So stop the fuss. The role of the offended little girl does not suit you," he said, a sharp edge in his voice. He hated it when she was looking through him and she was about to do it again. No, he was not at fault, he assured himself firmly, but they'd been through a lot together since they returned to Hogwarts. He was extremely uncomfortable with this new conscience he seemed to have grown, which didn't allow him any peace today concerning the know-it-all witch after she saved his neck - and he repaid her with hurtful words.

Hermione stared down at him. "I'm not a 'little girl', Malfoy …"

"Use the information I gave you or not, Granger. I played nice. Don't ask more from me, Mudblood!" He took up his book again, pointedly turning her off. For a long moment Hermione stood, just looking at him, doing a slow burn. Then behind his seat, she did a non-verbal charm, pointing her wand at the glass that stood in front of him.

She had barely reached her room when she heard him gasp and swear. The glass of fine chilled wine from the bottle had pocketed in the kitchen and been sipping had become spicy and hot. Hermione smirked and closed her door behind her, hearing him shout a threat. Feeling satisfied but also confused, she threw the books on her bed, slid the dinner plate onto the nightstand and greeted Crookshanks, still smiling about the coughing coming from the common room.

The next morning the weather had worsened. Grey clouds hung deep over the land and a chill wind blew around the castle, the students didn't mind. Not after the heat. The time when everyone wished for a warm day again would come soon enough.

Hermione went to the bathroom as early as possible, proceeding cautiously, showered, made up, dressed, and left the Head Students quarters an hour before Draco awoke.

He woke and poured himself a glass of cold water and drank it immediately, his mouth still burning from the hexed drink. Merlin's beard, what had Granger done to the wine? His mouth had burned for half the night. That cunning Mudblood would pay for it! What she had done was admirably accomplished for a Slytherin, but a Gryffindor? He didn't think she had it in her. Under different circumstances, he might have applauded her, but not as the recipient of that prank!

'_And I will make certain that she will never attempt such thing again. She WILL respect me and afterwards will cower in fear at the sight of me!'_ he vowed and slipped into his usual clothing: trouser, shirt, shoes and jacket, all black. After putting every hair into place, he went down to the common-room, glared at the half-full glass and was already to the door when he had an idea. He returned to the table and picked up the glass, taking it with him to the dungeons. He would run some tests to find out what kind of liquid that minx had made him drink. If it was dangerous, she would have to face the headmistress. McGonagall always lectured them about treating each house equally. Well, now the old bat could prove it!

He was almost done with the separation charm and was waiting for results, shown when the fluids he mixed with the hexed wine changed colours, when he heard someone behind him. To his surprise it was Graham Pritchard and Abdel, looking puzzled, seeing him here on a Sunday.

"Draco, we saw the door open, and thought Professor Slughorn might be here," the young Egyptian man said.

"Trying out a new potion, or has Granger bored you out of your dorm?" Graham teased and Draco grunted.

"She tried to poison me and I want to know with what. After that, I'll make certain she never forgets this day."

"She tried to _poison_ you? _Granger_, the holy hallowed Miss-Goody-Good of the noble Gryffindors?" Pritchard asked, blinking. "Wow, silent waters do run deep!"

Abdel bent over one of the containers, and sniffed. "That's … that's Tabasco!" he exclaimed. "Yes, I know it well. My parents love to spice their meals with it. That's Tabasco, mixed with something else." He handed the tube to Draco. "I hope you didn't get much of it, it can give you the runs."

"One sip and…" Malfoy frowned. "_Tabasco_? She put _Tabasco_ in my wine?" His voice was laced with incredulity. She used a _seasoning_ to torture him? That bitch!

Graham grinned. "Well, the world is so unfair. In days of yore, girls thanked their rescuers with kisses and flowers, calling them 'their heroes'. But today they repay them by spicing their drinks with jalapeño." He chuckled. "Really, Malfoy, you don't want to underestimate this girl. She won't fall for any of your gentlemanly tricks, like Pansy or the others. Be careful, my friend, or one day you'll fling yourself at her feet, begging the proverbial boon!"

Draco's face had hardened dramatically, his grey eyes were gleaming with rage. "I. Am. No. Servant to a filthy. MUDBLOOD!" he snarled. "And I would NEVER use 'gentlemanly tricks' on her, but will remain true to my oath to behave as that miserable Ministry wants me to, and complete my education here at school. But if this is the result," he pointed at the wine glass, "then they can go to hell! Granger will learn her place today, _I swear it_!"

"Take it easier," Abdel said gently. "It's possible she only-"

" 'Only' nothing! If she isn't treated like some kind of princess, she turns into a prima donna!" He ignored Pritchard's chuckle. "I helped her and she-"

"And wow, did you ever pour gasoline on the fire of the conflict in Slytherin house!" Graham interrupted, laughing. "Half of them want your head for defending a Gryffindor against your own house, and the other half thinks you're 'really cute'." He laughed, "I guess you can figure out which half," as the Head Boy looked horror struck

"Cute? _CUTE?_" Draco gasped, and the Prefect snickered:

"Well, most of the younger girls have crushes on you, acting the protector of a female you loath, thereby helping a damsel in distress. Some of the boys think you might be planning something to humiliate Granger at a later date, and others think you've simply lost your mind," he explained, tapping his temple. "Nevertheless, I would be careful the next time you step into our common room. Your biggest fan, Baddock, is livid enough to plot your imminent demise – in a metaphorical sense, of course. I think."

Malfoy moaned, rubbing his forehead. He, the undisputed leader of his house, the Prince of Slytherin, as he was called, had fallen from grace for a Muggle born witch who was his personal nemesis. "And this all for the bookworm! I don't _believe_ it!"

Graham laughed again. "Yes, my friend, you do have a problem."

"One that will be resolved by this evening, I promise!" Draco growled, flicked his wand, eliminating the contents of the tubes. _'Too far, Mudblood. This is the end of 'playing nice'. You will learn your place today, so get ready!'_

"Your family is safe with the aurors, Ron, I'm sure of it!"

Hermione had wrapped one arm around his shoulders and saw his expression go from terrified to furious. She had gone straight to the Gryffindor tower after she fled, more or less, the Head Students' area in the early morning-hours, and had woken up Ron, along with him Harry and three other boys in their room, banging on their door and finally getting a grumbled "Hold on!"

When they arrived, yawning and stretching and crumpled, she filled them in on the latest news she got from Malfoy. Harry also took it hard. Molly and Arthur Weasley were family to him, the only parents he'd ever known. And Ted Lupin, his god-son, was staying with them. The thought of them being a target made him sick. They tried to contact the Weasleys using the fireplace, and afterwards they tried Bill and Fleur and even George in his flat above his shop, but they only found silence.

Ron, quite agitated with concern for his family, wanted to go to McGonagall to ask her to let him use the floo network and go home to check on his parents (a foolish and dangerous method right now, which the headmistress would never allow.) His friends were arguing this point with him when an owl demanded entrance – a very small owl that bumped two times again the window-frame as soon as Harry had opened it. It was Pigwidgeon, Ron's tiny post owl. It darted about the room in a frenzy, then circled Ron's head three or four times before he could grab the envelope from the tiny creature, very pleased with itself for accomplishing its assignment. He tossed it an owl treat and Pig settled on the mantle. The letter was from Molly Weasley, his mother, informing him about what had happened, and that she, his father and brothers, along with Fleur and Teddy would be taken to an undisclosed place for their own safety, but she would contact him through one of the aurors as soon as possible. The usual 'Don't worry, we're all right' and 'greet Harry and Hermione for us' ended the message.

And now Ron sat between his two friends in front of the fireplace. Harry had started a blazing fire to take the off the chill that had fallen on the hall from the wet weather, and the awful news. He felt Hermione's slender arm around him and smelled her fresh, sweet scent, so familiar to him after more than seven years, but it didn't reach his soul. Fear had tied a knot in the pit of his stomach and sat there like a stone.

"What ... what if those blighters find them?" Ronald answered, his voice a whisper, and Hermione laid her head against his.

"They won't! The best aurors are with them and the Death Eaters have no clue where they are. They can't track down someone who left no trace. You'll see, your mother will contact you soon and tell you that they are all okay."

Harry tossed another log into the fire and returned to the sofa, sighing deeply. "Malfoy told you this?" he asked and the Head Girl nodded.

"Yes, his father contacted him and mentioned it."

"Why did Lucius Malfoy contact his son?" Harry asked, frowning. It was no secret that he held a grudge against the older Malfoy, larger even than the one against Draco.

If a child, a growing boy, acted cruelly or thoughtlessly, you might believe that he was too young to understand why he did it, or the harm he could inflict. Contrarily, Lucius was a grown man, well trained in every kind of magic, and he had used his skill, his background and reputation to bring only hurt upon those who were, in his eyes, 'beneath' him. He might have switched sides at the very last moment. Harry had witnessed the desperate pleading of the wizard to Voldemort to allow him go, to search for his son, but Harry still did not trust him one bit. His strong love for his son had been obvious in his voice then, and during those moments Harry realized that even the cold-hearted Death Eater was human. Voldemort's greatest failing had been not valuing the most powerful force on Earth – love. Lucius Malfoy chose his son above his lord, the beginning of the end for the Dark Lord.

Harry's encounters with Draco's father were seared into his memory. They'd been far from pleasant. Until the moment he'd heard Voldemort speak to Lucius through their connection, Harry had thought the older Malfoy incapable of warm or fatherly feelings, but learned then that he had misjudged the pureblood wizard regarding his family. Nevertheless, he was cautioned when he heard from Hermione that the older Malfoy told his son about the danger the Weasleys were in. He knew Lucius Malfoy was not the type to send warnings. Furthermore, he was curious about Lucius contacting his son more often than usual.

"The Malfoys were at the Ministry last evening, identifying Yaxley," Hermione answered, carefully choosing her words. She didn't want to reveal Draco's private matters any more than necessary. "Malfoy wanted to speak with his father because of the two Death Eaters who attacked us but could not reach him. After his parents returned home, Lucius contacted him via the fire. I was in the common room when his head popped up in the flames. I left, to give him some privacy. Malfoy told me about the Weasleys late yesterday evening, when I got back."

"But you're still angry with him?" Harry asked, and saw her make a face.

"More than ever. We got into an argument yesterday evening and…" Hermione grinned, "well, I put Tabasco in his wine." Jaws dropped. Even Ron reacted, and she added with a smirk, "He coughed so loudly he must have woken all the portraits."

Ron and Harry laughed out loud. "He won't be tasting his food any time soon," Ron chortled.

"Be careful the next time you meet him, Mione," Harry added. "He won't have taken this well."

Hermione lifted a brow. "Oh, I am certain he won't be messing with me. He knows that I can out-hex him any day and I'm certain he won't provoke me again." Her gaze drifted back to Ron, as his smile faded and the tension returned. "Head up, Ron. You'll see, everything will turn out well. They've caught one. It's only a matter of days before they capture the rest."

Ron forced a smile and gently squeezed her hand. "Yeah, thanks, Mione," he murmured, sighing. "But who's going to tell Ginny about all this?"

"We'll all do it," Harry said, and Ron snorted.

"Yeah, when she breaks down in tears, she has your shoulder." He ran his hands through his fiery hair. "Gor blimey, when will this hateful hide and seek finally come to an end?"

Ginny took the news surprisingly well, remaining calm, even though she paled and her eyes grew wide. It was a good thing that Harry had his arm wrapped tightly around her, ignoring Ron's pointed stare. He and Ginny were a couple, and if things turned out as planned, he was determined to marry her in one or two years. He had to get trained as an auror, and it was only then he could raise a family, but he knew that only Ginny was the one he wanted as his wife. And Ron had to live with that, end of story.

They went to breakfast and Hermione could feel the eyes on her from across the room as soon as muffins and a cup of tea appeared in front of her, provided by the ever-eager Hogwarts house elves. (She had promised herself a visit to them soon, and hoped she could learn more about them. Her determination to change some of the laws concerning the small magical creatures was stronger than ever. She frequently thought about her career after Hogwarts, which would definitely include the protection of the rights of the house elves.)

Feeling her neck hairs prickling, she turned toward the Slytherin-table and there sat Abdel, Graham Pritchard and Draco Malfoy, the latter examining her with slit eyes, jaw clenched and an expression that made her uneasy. He mouthed her a message across the crowded hall: 'Watch your back, Mudblood!'

Well, she would be watching her back when she returned to her dorm, but she would not allow fear. He couldn't do anything drastic - he would be kicked out of school and into Azkaban faster than he could say 'I'm sorry'. She would be ready when she faced him, but she would not let him frighten her.

So she only gave him one of her brilliant smiles and fought the urge to blow him a kiss, but winked his direction, as if flirting, then turned away again, ignoring him.

Draco gaped at her reaction, then he frowned. _'Just you wait, Granger, a little longer and never again you'll never again feel safe enough to show me your back!'_ he silently promised, sipping his warm tea, feeling even that burn his mouth as he watched the girl. She wore those stupid Muggle clothes she was so fond of, those blue trousers they called jeans, and a white, red and blue striped sweater, her hair tied up on the top of her head, some loose curls were framing her face. Well, she would see who was the better wizard: she with her dirty Muggle-blood in her veins, or he, coming from one of the oldest pureblood families of the wizarding world!

"He returned around midnight," Harry said, sitting on his bed, arms wrapped about his knees. The boys' dorm had become a place where they could speak freely without risk of being overheard. A _muffliato _charm was installed around the two four poster beds, making them inaudible to anyone outside of it. The four friends were once again pondering what the Egyptians were up to. "I watched the map until the Professor reappeared at the south gate and walked straight to his office."

Ron and Ginny exchanged a glance, while Hermione shook her head. "But he vanished off the map into the north before midday. Ginny and I saw it. Arriving from the south would mean that he had to traverse not just the castle, but also the mountain behind the school. He couldn't have managed it in twelve hours by walking, especially not after sunset, not that terrain."

"I know. He must have apparated. He could once he left the grounds. But I still wonder what he was doing so long outside in the rain." Harry looked at his friends. "It's strange."

"You have to remember, he IS the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and can we really trust him?" Ron added.

"Ghani is an interesting professor," Ginny added, "but I agree with Harry. Those shadows, that long walk outside of school, it all sounds really suspicious." She glanced at Hermione. "Have you heard anything from your Mom?"

"No, not yet. Researching the web can take a little time, because there's so much information, so maybe I'll get an answer tomorrow." Hermione sighed. "But honestly, I have this feeling that something is going on, but I can't put my finger on it." She scratched her head and changed the subject. "So, when is the first Quidditch game?"

The other three stared. "Next weekend, Hufflepuff against Slytherin. How could you not know this?" Harry was astounded - after all, the whole school was already setting odds as to who would win the first match of this year.

Hermione smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, I've been pretty busy with studies and being Head Girl, so…" She shrugged, embarrassed by her unseemly ignorance.

"I don't believe it! She lives with the Slytherin captain and didn't know that his team is playing in the first game next weekend." Ginny shook her head.

"She doesn't 'live with him'," Ron grumbled, "she's sharing a dormitory with the ferret, that's all."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione groused, "We don't even talk. The only civil conversations we have concern our Head-duties or our visitors. All other times he's the stuck-up prig we all know and despise, and I try and say things he can't answer." She smirked. "And if he gets too irritating, I found a way to shut him up: Tabasco."

Her friends all laughed, and Hermione lay back with her head in Ron's lap, not daring to think of the upcoming evening. Draco was up to something, and her stomach twisted when she remembered his murderous gaze from across the hall during breakfast.

She was right. And he couldn't know that this evening was the beginning of something that would change his whole life.

TBC…

_So, my dear readers, after our Slytherin-Prince his reeled up, I can promise you that in the next chapter the whole situation will explode – and will change into something you all are waiting for. After all, so many sparks have to burst into flames one day or another, and how is the old saying? There is a thin line between hate and love – and passion is the most reason for such a drastically switch of emotions. Yes, the two will face a short but wild way, until the passion will bloom into love, but the base for it will come in the next chapter. And I just warn you even now: it will be hot._

_I hope, you enjoy the story so far and – as always – please, please, please review._

_Love you all,_

_Lywhn_


	14. When Hatred and Temptation Collide

_Hallo, my dear readers,_

_This time the update comes a little bit sooner, and Cheetah and I are trying to publish the new chapters at the weekends from now on, so that you can read the newest parts in relaxed leisure._

_Thank you so very, very much for the last reviews. Imbyrri? I do love old mythology very much and I am glad that there are more who share my interests besides Harry Potter and the other heroes I'm quite fond of. There will come more and more of the Egyptian gods, just wait. And Oceanmina? I don't know if you guess what Draco is up to, but I think it will be a surprise – especially the outcome. Cuacuaro? Yes, the banter of our two Head-Students will not be skipped easily. Even if they will get better along after the next episode is finished (and I mean the next three chapters including this one), they still will have plenty of opportunities to bicker, only (sometimes) in another, less harsh but more equivocal way. I am really curious what you three and the other readers are going to think of it._

_And now: off to Hogwarts._

_Have fun,_

_Love you all,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 13 – When Hatred and Temptation Collide**

The hours flew that day, and even though cold and wet outside, the Hufflepuffs trained the entire morning for the next Quidditch match, and the Slytherins in the afternoon. Morning and afternoon, Philip McLally assisted the teams, and afterwards, cleaned brooms and boots for them, collected the quaffle and bludgers and the practice snitch, restored the beaters' bats with a spell he'd learned just for it. He loved watching practice and being a part of the game, in his small way. Some of the members of his house even gave him hints and advice, amused by his eagerness to learn as much as possible about his favourite game.

Uneasily, Philip witnessed the mood of the Slytherins in the afternoon. He was always nervous around the Head-Boy, cowed by his authority, and he had learned by now that the members of that house were rarely kind to other students outside of Slytherin, but never before in his short unhappy life had he been in the middle of such a hostile atmosphere. He had heard that Draco Malfoy had defended Hermione Granger (with whom he had a hostile history) against four members of Slytherin. Philip thought him rather heroic, but it was with a sinking feeling he watched how half of the team now treated the Head-Boy. They shot evil glares in his direction, whispered behind his back, and kept an icy silence. They only followed his directions reluctantly. The other half seemed to be neutral but when Harper showed up, displaying some stray _furnuncle _marks in his face, Philip was certain the entire team would explode. Angry stares turning toward their captain, wands were drawn in the blink an eye, and, if it not for Madame Hooch who had just arrived to check on the practice as she did for every training, the afternoon certainly would have turned out much worse.

Malfoy's mood had reached rock bottom as he returned to the castle after practice. His team was performing adequately, and he was certain they would win the match next weekend, but the open hostility was troubling. He was accustomed to being the centre of admiration, not being pointed at and ostracised. To crown the afternoon, a downpour started as he left the changing room, and by the time he flew his broom back to Hogwarts, his Quidditch outfit under one arm, he was soaked to the skin. Not bothering with a drying charm, he went straight to his dormitory, put away his broom, stripped off his wet clothes and filled the pool with warm water, hopping into it before it was half full.

He felt like an abandoned puppy. Needing something to warm him up, he clapped his hands and summoned Kreacher (not because of any fondness for this particular house elf, but Kreacher was the only name he knew, and in order to summon any that were not your servants, you had to use their name.)

Keeping in mind that Kreacher now belonged to Potter, he swallowed his pride and _asked_ for some hot tea with rum. He had barely leaned back into the suds when Kreacher returned with the requested refreshment, as well as some light butter cookies, perfect with the tea, serving it to him from the edge of the pool. Against his wish, Draco actually felt gratitude toward the ugly wrinkled Elf with the hairy ears and the bullfrog voice, and simply enjoyed in the warm tea and the cookies, considering the advantages of being Head Boy versus the conflicts he was enduring with those of his house.

It was a relief not to have to face the bookworm. It gave him the chance to carefully consider the execution of the confrontation, while he enjoyed the warm, fragrant herbal bath, examining the problem before him. She _had_ to be put in her place. He had to make certain that she would respect him, and know his revenge for what she did, but ... not overdo it, which was the tricky part. There must be no reason for Slughorn or McGonagall to get involved. His status as Head Boy and his place at Hogwarts must not be threatened. But Granger had to pay for his suffering for a night and half the day.

By the time the bubbles had begun to turn colour for the fifth time, Draco had his plans firmly in mind. He drained the pool and returned to his room and dressed in something warm and typically elegant. Wearing his trademark black, he pocketed his wand and went to dinner, engaging Graham and Abdel in small talk, grateful for their neutrality about the situations around him. Still, he was wary around their Egyptian guest. Abdel was intelligent, skilled, polite, projecting a kind and mannerly demeanour that was rare in Slytherin, but still, Draco knew that something about him wasn't right – especially after what they'd seen in the hall from under that cloak.

Hermione and the other three also appeared for dinner. Abdel followed his gaze and raised one brow. "Still up for payback?" he whispered and Draco's gaze slid sideways.

"Count on it!" he growled, slicing his roast beef.

"You'll have to be very careful," Graham mumbled, pouring himself some pumpkin juice.

A slow, dangerous smile played around Malfoy's lips. "Yes. I have the whole evening prepared. She will not dare to piss around with me again by running to the teachers when I'm done with her. She'll have to realize who and what I am and that I'm better than she. Just wait, Gram. By tomorrow she will be tame as a kitten."

If the two doubted him, no one could tell, but he couldn't care less. He was about to teach the Mudblood a lesson she would never forget. Not long now, and Head Girl Granger would be at his feet!

The whole day, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny impatiently awaited news of Molly or Arthur Weasley, but the fireplace remained silent. No new owl arrived, and Ron had put Pig on his nightstand, not bothering to send the small bird to the owlery in the foul weather.

Ginny and Hermione studied together for their upcoming test in Ancient Runes that afternoon, while Harry and Ron, neither inclined to homework, played a distracting game of wizard chess. At some point, Neriman and Wilhelmina joined the two girls, and together they did some homework, chatting about the teachers. Neriman even told them about some Hieroglyphs, and Hermione, showing the avid interest of a good student, wrote down the basics of this ancient script. In truth, she wanted to learn as much as possible about the old world of their Egyptian guests. She was certain she would be using it before very long.

Harry had accompanied her the two times she went back to her dorm to look after Crookshanks, both knowing that Malfoy never let go of a grudge, but the Head Boy was nowhere to be seen.

Now, as the hour grew late, Hermione knew that she had to return to her dormitory and, likely, a vengeful partner. Unwilling to play the coward, she bade the others good night, insisting that Ron and Harry not accompany her, and went straight back to their hallway, her homework shouldered in her bag, her wand gripped tightly in her other hand as the portrait that led into the common room came into sight. Taking a deep breath, she murmured the password and slipped into the common room, finding it empty, but with a warm fire dancing in the fireplace. The portrait door swung closed behind her.

The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the wind and rain outside, lashing the windows. The combination was unsettling.

Hermione's eyes swept the two large sofas, the windows, the pedestal table, the corners of the common room, attempting to discern where Malfoy could be, but the room appeared empty. Not trusting the calm, she took a careful step forward, her wand held high, revealing charm on the tip of her tongue, when suddenly, she felt something digging into her back - hard. Startled she almost yelped, but a low, cold voice said: "It's really careless of you to walk in without making certain that you are alone!"

Hermione's heart drummed loudly in her ears, and a chill crept up her spine. She knew it was his wand she felt in her back. He must have used a disillusionment charm! Forcing her voice from a frightened squeak to a lower pitch, she answered slowly: "And why should I fear to enter my own common room, Malfoy? What sort of Slytherin trickery do you have planned?"

The pressure of the wand increased. She could feel a tingle coming from its tip.

"Watch it, Mudblood. We're done with this tit-for-tat. No one treats me like you have, and I will not allow it to continue. I saved your pathetic little life, I stood up for you against my own house to prevent you from harm, and how did you thank me? By poisoning me with Tabasco, by showing disrespect in every class, implying that a filthy Mudblood is smarter than a true wizard!"

His voice was unnervingly calm and Hermione knew his anger must be white hot. When he was upset, he yelled or threw insults, never using the tone he did now. He was quite dangerous. "Look, Malfoy, if you have a problem with being the second best in class, if you even can't bear what happens to you after all you've done to others, _you're_ the one who's 'pathetic'."

She felt him closing the distance to her and the heat that radiated from his body. "I'm pathetic? Second best?" Still he sounded cool, completely in control. "Perhaps, Granger, we should find out once and for all who is the better magician."

He slowly moved around to face her. His eyes burned, sending a shiver through her. He appeared deceptively calm For just a moment she asked herself, _'__Have I gone too far last evening?'_ But then she remembered that it had been he who had thanked her for her help by shouting at her and pushing her around. And, for pity's sake, it was just _TABASCO. _No, she would stand her ground!

"Well, look at our test scores and you'll have your answer," she answered.

She saw the sneer slide over his face, accompanied by a low chuckle that did not sound amused. "I'm not talking about exams or classes, Granger." He shook his head. "No, I mean your real skills, what you can _do,_ not what you pick up from books." He lifted his free hand and took her bag, pulling it from her shoulder despite her protest.

"What are you doing? Stop it, Malfoy!"

With an easy movement he tossed it on the gold sofa, growling. "You'll need freedom of movement, otherwise it wouldn't be fair – and I don't want victory _given_ to me!"

Hermione snorted. "You have lost your mind!" She shook her head and went to her bag, opening it. "I swear, if you ruined my homework or damaged my quills, I will-"

He grabbed her right arm and swung her around, facing him again. "Come on, Granger, this isn't the time for whining over schoolwork. Defend yourself."

It dawned on her what he wanted. "You … you want to _duel_? Are you insane?" she gasped.

"Nothing dramatic, nothing too dangerous, so don't worry your bushy little brains. Let's find out who is truly the better wizard." He stepped back two metres, waiting with a calmness that was unnerving, and twirled the wand deftly.

She stared, disbelieving. "You cannot believe I will duel with you."

A slow, icy smile appeared on his face. "What say I go first?" He pointed his wand, but Hermione was quicker.

She pointed it at his chest, glaring daggers. "Don't. You. Dare!" she whispered and, to her astonishment, the cruel smirk changed to a lazy grin, then his mouth opened.

Before he could speak, Hermione was able to throw a protection charm between her and Malfoy, his spell collided blue against the invisible wall of the _protego_. Her anger had now awoken – that scoundrel! – and fiercely she whispered: "_Expelliarmus_!"

Her charm didn't reach him, for he had raised a protection charm himself, and so instead of disarming him, she had to jump aside, as his voice called: "_Impedimenta_!"

"Just stay where you are," Hermione tossed, throwing the wordless jinx in his direction, but he was too quick and ducked. So instead of the dancing legs Ron Weasley suffered for almost two days, the spell hit one of the curtains, which promptly started to jerk and to wave as if in a responding to the storm outside. For long minutes they cast and dodged spells, which shot through the air missing the other one by merely inches.

"_Remaninus_!"

"_Anaoneo_!"

"_Baubillios_!"

Her voice was firm as she stretched her arm in his direction. Malfoy quickly slapped his free arm over his eyes, as a bright light shot out of Hermione's wand, while he reinforced his defence charm. "Miserable tart, do you want to blind me?" he yelled, his cool control slipping, exposing the rage that stewed in him for hours ... days ... weeks ... even years – but a new but familiar animation heightened his senses and pumped adrenalin through his body, quickening his reactions.

"_Avis_!" came the answer and several birds shot toward him from her wand tip, their sharp beaks aiming for his head.

"_Confringo_!" he shouted and the birds exploded into flames and vanished, but not quickly enough. One had reached him and grazed him painfully along his right temple. He cursed and as he looked up, he saw Granger grinning at him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling. So, she was _enjoying_ this? Time for a change! "_Deprimo_!"

Hermione dodged out of the way, flinging back "_Everte Statum_!"

It only grazed Malfoy, but it was enough to push him backwards. His seeker-trained reflexes caught him in mid-air, where he rolled around, landed half on his side and dived behind her couch. "You're using a spell from the _second_ year? Really, Granger, I thought you smarter!" he taunted.

"_Aparecium_!"

The sofa was suddenly _not there,_ and for a moment Draco panicked, leaping to his feet and raising the barrier around him again. Then he remembered that the jinx she'd used only made things invisible for a few moments, but didn't eliminate them, so his move had put him into the line of fire.

"Treacherous shrew!" he hissed and for a moment they simply looked at each other. A few gold-brown curls had escaped Hermione's ponytail and framed her heart-shaped face, her dark eyes shimmered in anger and amusement, she panted lightly, her breasts obvious through the thin sweater, her long legs braced to allow for quick reactions. Even in those stupid Muggle-style clothes, she was an appealing figure no male would despise, and Malfoy felt new fury awakening in him as he realized the direction his thoughts were drifting. "Tired already?" he mocked and saw the crease appear between her brows.

Hermione met his eyes. His silver-blond hair was in disarray, the grey of his eyes glistened from silver to a stormy anthracite and back, his right hand held his dark wand in a tight grip and he was slightly out of breath, his left hand curled elegantly behind him in the common fencing stance. And there was a pride in his eyes she could have admired, if it hadn't been bloody Draco Malfoy. "Tired?" she jeered. "Haven't started yet."

"Glad to hear it!" he snorted and moved so quickly she could only react from instinct. A light shot from his wand she was barely able to block, but it almost swept her off her feet. Stumbling backwards she attacked again.

"_Immobolus_!"

But instead of creating a Malfoy statue, he nimbly dropped beneath the charm and hurled the next hex on her, breaking through her protection with his power, increased by sheer will to beat her, and it hit her when unprotected: "_Levicorpus_!"

For a long moment Hermione was lifted in the air and hung upside-down, before she pointed her wand quickly at herself. "_Finite Incantatem_!" She cried out as the spell was instantly broken, and she landed hard on the floor with a grunt, only to roll away and avoiding the next jinx of the Head Boy, who strode towards her, his wand pointed at her: "_Carpe Retractum_!"

This time she was too slow. A rope shot out of Malfoy's wand and captured her left ankle, pulling her away from the table she might have used as a shield. A scream of outrage escaped her, swinging her wand in his direction, only to find herself weighed down as he yelled: "_Deprimo_!" And Hermione realized with a sinking feeling that not only had her protection charm worn off, but it seemed that he was only playing until now. He was now quite serious.

Using again the charm that broke others, she was free in a moment and on her feet, shouting, "_Protego_ _Impedimenta_!" followed by "_Incarcerous_!"

Draco raised a defensive charm, preventing her from binding him with ropes. She was good, he'd give her that. But it was time to end the game, before she could get past his defences. "_Ascendoi_!" Before her widening eyes, he leaped into the air as if flying, and before she could grasp what he was up to, he pointed his wand down behind her shield, shouting forcefully: "_Expelliarmus_!"

Hermione felt a sharp jerk in her right arm and her wand was hurled away; clattering to a corner, the shield charm disintegrating. Taken by surprise by his spell, she hesitated a moment too long – time enough for him to land and take the upper hand. "_Locomoto_ _Mortis_!"

She gasped as she felt her legs being forced together and her body become rooted to the spot, unable to move, no chance to reach her wand. She lifted her hands in an apotropaic gesture as she saw him closing the distance to her, sneering a triumphal "Check!" His wand drove in a small circle. "_Locomoto mortis mani_!" Stunned, Hermione realized that he had paralyzed all of her limbs, making her completely defenceless. At least, she didn't fall down.

The insult that lingered on the tip of her tongue died there as he reached her, whirled her around and pressed himself along the length of her back, one long arm wrapped around her shoulders, the other hand pressing his wand against her ribs. "Checkmate! End of game!" he whispered in her ear, his warm breath on her cheek.

For a long moment both didn't speak, both panting with their recent efforts. Hermione was trying to grasp this inconceivable situation: Draco Malfoy had outwitted her! And he hadn't even used Dark Magic, but spells which were (more or less) allowed! He had won when he got past her protection charm, and now he had caught her! She felt his rapidly beating heart at her back, his breath moving in and out of his chest. The warmth from his body was all over her, seeping into her already heated skin. And, without warning, she was far too conscious of the strong and very _male_ body she was pressed against. She went rigid as her mind whirled. "Get off me, you jerk!" she snapped and, to her anger, she heard him chuckle.

"Tut-tut, Granger, the time you can order me around is gone." His grip tightened around her, while the end of his wand slid under her breast. "I won and from now on you will do as _I_ say. You will apologize to me, you will only speak in my presence when I permit it, and you will treat me-"

"You're insane! I'm a free citizen of a free country, and you will not forbid me to speak when I want!"

Her voice shook in anger, and for a moment he gritted his teeth. He knew she'd never given anything up, something he had to accomplish if he wanted to succeed now. "You will, Mudblood! You _will_ obey me!" He lowered his head, ignoring the wonderful scent of her hair. "You will tell me I won!"

'_Oh no I won't!'_ If she said those two words, it was as good as a surrender, and that was out of the question. She pressed her lips together and stared straight ahead, her chin proudly lifted, eyes glaring at the far wall. She felt anger from him, but she heard and felt him laughing quietly; a low rumble from deep in the chest she was far too close to.

His arm tightened around her, and she could feel every muscle in his torso, while he brought his face even closer to hers. "Tell me!" he insisted again, his voice nothing more than a breath that tickled the fine hairs on her skin.

Collecting her considerable store of bravery, she straightened her shoulders, cursing his proximity which was more than a little alarming. "No!" she stated firmly, setting her jaw.

"Wrong answer!" His tone was darker now, but it only sounded to her more like the dangerous purr of a big cat, ready to strike. And his wand was now slowly wandering down towards her belly, leaving behind a tingling sensation on its path.

Her eyes widened. "What are you doing?" she gasped, feeling the prickling coming from the wand. "Stop it, Malfoy, this instant!"

For a moment his grip was so tight she couldn't breathe. "No more orders from you, Granger! You're in no position to demand anything." He felt her wriggling for freedom within the binding charms, and he stiffened, as her movements stimulated a sensitive portion of his body. _No, she wasn't trying anything like that. She was far too much of a prude to use that trick – which, by the way, wouldn't help her at all. He had always found her repulsive ..._

And the scent of her hair ... her skin ... the warmth of her pressed against the length of his torso and legs ...

She suddenly threw her head back, obviously attempting to flatten his invasive nose – the only way she could fight him just now. She missed, but heat awoke in him. Her slender body had reared up in his arms, and he grabbed her hip to hold her still, feeling the soft curve beneath his fingers. He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed hard, pressing her more firmly against him again, and he felt the sweetly pleasurable but very unwelcome reaction under his gut. _Great Merlin, was her body turning on him now? No! No way!_

"Give up, Mudblood!" he growled, turning her slightly, enveloping her completely to prevent her from moving, hoping she hadn't felt what he had, that his old repulsion would soon eliminate the condition. "Tell me I won!" he demanded harshly and met her furious, frightened eyes, large as a doe's.

"Why do you want to hear it so badly?" she snarled, regaining some stubbornness. "It's obvious you're stronger than I – being big strong grown _man_, and me just a little girl."

He smirked. "Because it makes my victory so much sweeter!" he murmured with an evil curl of his lip, fixing her fiery glare. A few inches shorter than he, her breath danced over his throat, warm and sweet, and for a long moment he savoured his possession of her, having the girl not only in his power, at his mercy, but also to _feel_ her. Her slender body was tense, and he could feel every curve of it – delicious and forbidden. His senses were heightened. He could see her pulse beating in her neck, felt the warmth of her, and how nicely she fitted to his own body. Seeing her defiant expression awoke the desire in him to see her in submission to him – in more ways than one.

He lowered his head to her ear again, feeling the heat of her and the tickling of her loose curls. She tried to jerk away, but could not. "Tell me now!" he whispered harshly, and closed his eyes as a knot tightened is his stomach, for his lips had accidentally grazed her skin beneath her ear in the process.

'_Soft!_ _So very soft and smooth!_ _A Mudblood shouldn't have a skin like silk!'_ It was impossible that something so disgusting could be covered in velvet, but she was. Her gasp went straight through him, settling into a region he didn't want to think about right now, but as she struggled again in his arms, his next action was ... inevitable. His mouth closed over the sensitive spot he found near her ear, while the arm still holding his wand, slipped around her, too. He felt her racing pulse beneath his lips, tasted her skin, salty from the exertions of her day and sweet as fruit, and heard a gasp – a sound even a saint would be unable to resist. And he was no saint.

Hermione was frozen with shock. The moment she felt his breath on her neck, she had tensed. Her mind was in turmoil as her body reacted to his intimate presence – her worst enemy inside of Hogwarts and possibly outside, too. His long arms held her in place and his scent – manly and fresh, smelling of soap made of herbs – washed over her senses, sent them reeling the moment his lips touched her neck.

_No!_

_This couldn't be real!_

_He could not…_

A gasp escaped her as his mouth found a spot she hadn't known about. A sensation like flaming butterflies exploded in her belly and sent heat through her veins, woke a strange ache that flooded down and down, until it reached her most private place. She wanted to scream in humiliation as she realized how her body betrayed her, but before her mind could settle around it, her captor nipped at that damned spot, so that even if not stunned she would not have been able to move. His lips were soft as they gently nibbled her skin, and there was a sharp intake of breath as his tongue darted out, tickling and tasting her just beneath her right ear, sending a shiver down to her toes. His warm breath stroked her throat, beneath her collar, his strong arms about her no longer forcing but personal, and his large, slender hands moved slowly over her waists and hips, his quick heartbeat pounded at her back.

_Good God, this wasn't happening!_

_NO NO NO! __Stunned helpless by a spell, caught in a tight embrace and being erotically assaulted by the despicable Draco Malfoy, who had just defeated her in a duel ... ! Far worse, she was growing weak, vulnerable, overcome by dangerous emotions that could move mountains._ It was desire. A deep and completely unwelcome desire that poured through her body and settled in her lap. She hated this Slytherin – this man, this _boy_ – with all of her strength, but even without the _immobulus _charm, she would not have been able to fight him off.

She gasped again as his lips wandered upwards, finding her jaw and moved along it, nibbling and licking at the tender flesh. And his target was obvious. She wanted to curse, to scream, to stop him no matter what! But ... but ... at the same time ... she wanted the moment he would find her mouth. A part of her (which she intellectually damned to hell) wanted to know how it felt to be kissed by him, how he tasted, what it was to be desired by him – the Prince of Slytherin, the 'bad boy' of Hogwarts. Her other part recoiled in horror, not only because of what was to come, but also because she longed for it.

She dragged her eyes open and looked up, saw the firelight dancing in his platinum-blond hair, turning his pale skin to gold. His long dark eyelashes threw soft shadows on his high cheekbones, for he had closed his eyes, revealing passion, desire on his face. This stunned her more effectively than any spell ever could, to know that at this moment, _she_ was the reason for the longing in his face, and then her mind turned off, for his lips had covered hers and sealed her mouth in a way she was unable to fight.

Fire! It shot through her veins the second his lips covered hers, touching them experimentally, moving against them, suckling, licking, gently prying them open, pulling quite tenderly at them. Something clattered to the floor and his right hand cupped her chin and left cheek, held her softly in place as he deepened the kiss, coercing her with gentle force to open her mouth. And, feeling completely overwhelmed and powerless, she allowed him access, moaning as she tasted him – her nemesis ... her conqueror.

Every sane thought had left Draco the moment he felt and tasted her smooth skin. Something in the back of his mind screamed to him to stop, to use this opportunity to humiliate her, but he was unable to slow down his exploration of this human silk, to savour just a bit more of his entrancing Mudblood, whose quiet throaty whimpers woke a strong desire in him he felt no impulse to resist. If he had been able to gather one reasonable thought or some of his scorn for the Muggle-born witch, he _might_ have managed to stop himself, but all was lost in the rising lava that streamed through his body.

And then he found what his lips had searched for: her mouth. And it wasn't enough. The quick tastes of her soft honey-flavoured lips weren't enough, he wanted more – had to have more! The wand fell as he moved his hand to her neck and cheek, keeping her against him, demanding entrance. He groaned as her lips parted and with a deep hunger, he invaded that forbidden place, tasting her finally, completely. And her mouth was better than imagined, even in his fevered state – it was soft, wet, sweet, the forbidden fruit he had read about. And it was even softer, tastier and more delicate than her silken skin. He swallowed her gasps like wine, plundered her mouth like a thief, pulling her around to face him, crushing her body to his, his hands wandering over her shoulders, back, and lower, exploring her slender frame.

Hermione had fallen against him. The spells were wearing off, but she did not notice. She forgot _who_ was kissing her, held her, was assaulting her in a manner she had never allowed before. He tasted far too good to resist, his talented tongue duelled hers in a much different manner than what she had been through only moments ago. Her arms, no longer confined by the charm, slipped around him, sliding over and under the wool of his sweater, to his neck, her fingers finding his hair – so smooth, so sleek, fine and thick, asking to be handled. She returned his kiss with a passion she didn't know she possessed, that was driving her mad.

Neither heard the portrait door swing open nor saw the figure standing in the frame.

Minerva McGonagall stood frozen at the opening, her spectacles sliding down her nose, eyes like saucers. Scant minutes ago, Lady Hillary had appeared in Dumbledore's portrait, almost tripping over his sleeping form in her haste, and screamed that the two Head Students were killing each other. She couldn't see into the common room from her place at the Head Girl's door, but she had heard the Slytherin challenging her, and practically forcing Hermione Granger to duel. Shocked, she had listened momentarily to the flying jinxes and spells, then dashed from portrait to portrait until she reached the headmistress' office, where she hoped to find McGonagall.

Minerva had shot up from her chair as Lady Hillary stumbled over Albus, who cried out in alarm. Professor Dumbledore had attempted to calm her, and Professor Snape had demanded further information. The gentle Gryffindor witch had preceded Minerva to the entrance of the Head Students' dormitory, darting again from portrait to portrait.

Professor Minerva McGonagall was neither easily panicked nor shocked. She had remained calm during the moments she proclaimed to the school that Voldemort was on his way to Hogwarts. During battle, and other dangerous events in her life, she had never yet lost her nerve. She'd had quite a bit of training in surprises and danger, having taught Transfiguration to a new group of beginners every year. But Lady Hillary's news had brought her to her feet and down the circular stair before she had time to put on her hat. The knight in the portrait had drawn his sword and was swinging it wildly when she finally reached the dormitory entrance out of breath and fear in her heart. She shouted the password as she approached and he immediately opened the portrait door, revealing the scene in the common room. Certain she would have to use her wand to stop them from killing each other, she herself was stunned when silence greeted her and she looked upon the interlaced forms of Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy.

The room was in utter disarray. The two stood near the sofas, wrapped in a tight embrace, hands tangled in their hair and under sweaters, exploring and stroking, and their mouths were locked in a fierce kiss. Soft groans and gasps wove one of the oldest and sweetest melodies in the world, the fire, wind and rain providing an accompanying counterpoint.

For a moment, Minerva leaned heavily against the doorframe, allowing her galloping heart to slow down, and to grasp the significance of what her eyes were telling her. She took in the condition of the room, the traces of magic evident on the walls. The Gryffindor sofa was only now growing visible again, Hermione's book bag open on it, a curtain jerked and flapped by the closed window, and there was Hermione's wand lying on the floor near the wall. Draco's wand, dark and polished, lay at the feet of the young couple, no wands needed for now.

McGonagall closed her eyes for a couple of seconds with a sigh of relief. _'__I suppose Draco won.' _She preferred an affair between the two, even a secret one, over them fighting. And there had been a duel, no doubt. But it seemed to have developed into something that neither the two enemies – nor anyone else – had quite anticipated.

Deciding for now to let them alone, the headmistress left the room, silently closing the portrait door. In the corridor, she leaned against the wall, willing the strength back into her knees. Of course she knew that students duelled each other. As far as she knew, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter had done it during their years together in Hogwarts, too, but it was unheard of for a Head Girl and Head Boy fighting like this. Somehow, though, it seemed to her inevitable that those two would someday lose control, and sanity seemed to have left them both, but for a far better reason. Yes, Minerva and the other professors had a responsibility for the moral behaviour in Hogwarts, but just this moment she didn't care if the two followed the passion she had just witnessed. They both were of age, and there were many steps between the initial kiss and -

"Minerva ...?"

McGonagall almost yelped, and looked up. On the opposite wall, in a portrait of an old lady writing letters in green ink on a long parchment, Dumbledore had appeared, steadying the other inhabitant with an "I am so sorry, my dear." Then the sharp blue eyes behind the half moon spectacles fixed the headmistress. "What is the status of Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy? Are they - "

He stopped as a black clad man with shoulder-length oily black hair pressed himself into the portrait, also, disturbing the writing table again, his dark eyes displaying a concern that no student during his career had ever thought him capable. "Excuse me, Albus. Minerva, what about Draco? What did that miserable Know-It-All do to him?"

Minerva stood again, tall and erect, pushed her glasses into place and looked up at them, an unreadable expression on her face, then suddenly laughed. "They're kissing!" she chuckled. Albus' eyes widened and Snape might have appeared a bit green around the nose, even though only a painted image now.

Then warmth and humour danced in Dumbledore's eyes, and a cheerful smile made his long silver beard twitch. "It seems, dear friend, you have seen the story of the two better than anyone else," he said to McGonagall. "What was it you said, after the incident with the werewolf? They would either kill each other before the end of the year or fall madly in love?" He cocked his head. "I think perhaps the latter. Don't you, Severus?"

Snape, who was on his way out of the frame, grimaced. "Draco Malfoy … kissing that irritating …" He snorted. "She must have hexed him, or poisoned him, or…" Seeing that his predecessor and his successor were laughing with amusement, he sneered in disgust and straightened his shoulders. "I pray Lucius never learns of this. Draco has been through enough. He doesn't need to be disinherited as well."

The lady in the portrait shook her head. "A Slytherin and a Gryffindor? Sweet Merlin, what a time is this?"

"A good time, finally!" Dumbledore replied. "I always worked for unity between the houses, and if those two can overcome their enmity, there is hope, far more than we've seen here for centuries." He bowed toward the painting's inhabitant. "I bit you goodnight, Lady Abigail." His eyes found McGonagall. "Shall we, Minerva? Severus, after you."

The headmistress looked up at the two men and sighed. "I think I need some of that excellent old cognac you stored for stressful times, Albus." She watched Lady Hillary arriving at the portrait of the knight, her eyes large and fearful. Minerva raised a hand. "They are still living and breathing – a bit fast, but that's normal when passion is involved. Nonetheless, I thank you for your attention and diligence in reaching me. Good night, Hillary."

The lady and the knight watched the headmistress stride down the hallway, straightening her shoulders and tucking her hair into place, while from every portrait she passed, the voices of Dumbledore and Snape whispered apologizes for disturbing their repose.

Of this exchange, the two who had caused the perturbation were unaware. All they could feel and hear and taste were each other. Another gasp escaped Hermione, as strong fingers found their way under her sweater and caressed her back, the palm felt sweetly cool against her skin, still tender from the sunburn. Never before had someone dared so much, never before had she felt a man's hand on her bare back. Her knees had lost all strength, and if he hadn't been holding her in his tight embrace, she would have sunk to the floor. She whimpered as he tore his lips from hers, pure need for breath forcing them apart, but the next moment he attacked her neck again, biting, kissing, suckling, taking in her scent.

Thoughtlessly, her head fell back to allow better access, her eyes closed, her fingers exploring his soft hair and the muscles of his shoulders, hardened by exercise and training since he was a young boy.

_This was heaven, this was …_

"So who won?"

The gruff voice of Sir Meal sounded from outside the Head Boy's bedroom down into the common room. "It's so quiet. Who won? And don't tell me, you hexed each other into fainting. This would be far too embarrassing for a Slytherin!"

If the heavy rain against the windows nor the opening and closing of the door by the headmistress had not dampened the wild, lustful haze, then this voice did. For a moment, Draco's mind didn't register the noise as a voice, let alone understand the words. He was lost in the consciousness that was this girl in his arms, whose body melted into his as if she'd been made for him and him alone. For a few seconds longer, he savoured her taste, her fragrance, her weight in his arms, revelled in the sensation of her soft hands gliding over his shoulders and scalp, and drank in the small noises she made.

Then reality struck.

He was kissing a girl, kissing her with mindless desire, but he heard a voice calling out to him ... that was not good. It could mean trouble.

Lifting his head, he opened his eyes on the girl that had been able to make him forget his purpose ... his surroundings ... Breathing heavily and dizzy because of his passion-clouded senses, he took in the curls, the brown eyes in the heart-shaped face now looking up at him, glassy and dreamy. The luscious lips were swollen and practically begged to be captured again, and he nearly did, but…

But this wasn't right. This was… _Granger_?

Shocked beyond description, he stared down at the girl he had defeated only moments ago and … whom he was now ... _kissing_?_?_ _How? Why? What had come over him? Had he lost his mind? Had she cursed him? Had she…_

His reeling thoughts were abruptly brought back to earth. The only warning he got was her fleeting look of bewilderment, followed instantly by flaring rage, and then she slapped him. Hard.

Hard enough to make him see stars.

Before he could even absorb this new shock, he was shoved backwards with such strength that he stumbled, knocking over the table behind him, and knocking it over with a thud, and next found himself on the floor next to it with items from the table pouring into his lap. And above him stood Hermione Granger like the angel of vengeance, screaming bloody murder at him.

Too stunned to reply, he could only watch her striding away. The fog in his mind lifted somewhat as she bent to pick up her wand, and turned toward him. He tried to scramble to his feet, fearing right this moment for his life, but all he got was a shower of icy water, drenching him head to toe. "Maybe THIS will cool you down, you sickening miserable _pervert!_" Her voice was shrill enough to be heard all over the school, then ropes shot out of her wand and bound him tightly.

"Stay here and rot!" she screamed, whirled around and vanished up the stairs, her angry tread and her infuriated mumblings audible until she reached her room. Hermione shouted something at the Lady Hillary (who was still looking quite worried), then the door slammed shut and – finally – a heavenly silence enfolded him.

He needed a minute or more to shake the water out of his eyes and sort out what exactly had happened, and then five minutes more until he could concentrate enough to summon his wand and remove the ropes. His thoughts were in turmoil. What had happened, for pity's sake? Had she hexed him to escape his revenge or had he simply gone mad? He'd kissed the damn _Mudblood_ for murder's sake! He'd kissed her – and his body ached for more, which was even more unthinkable. If it hadn't been for Sir Meal, then certainly he _would_ have tried for more. _They_ would have gone too far, because he remembered perfectly well how she responded to him.

That was, until she slapped him.

She _slapped_ him! That accursed bushy-haired no-account Gryffindor bitch had slapped him! Not in the way she punched him in their third year, but certainly with equal force. His left cheek burned, and he was certain that her handprint would be recognizable for hours.

After drying himself with a drying charm and, then one by one, removing the traces of their duel, he went to his own room, ignoring the questions Sir Meal peppered him with.

He still had found no answers as he changed and slipped into his bed – frustrated, confused, and shaking with shock and anger.

TBC…

_So, my dear reader, this was a changing to your liking? Of course our dear Slytherin is shocked that he 'slipped' like this, but there is more to come, be sure of it._

_In the next chapter, both Head-Students will face their own guilds of what happened, and will react in their own way. And Hermione will receive a letter from her mothers with information of some events in the Muggle-world, which will give the Golden Trio the first hints of the purpose of their Egyptian comrades._

_So, just wait for the next part._

_I do hope you enjoyed the newest chapter and please, PLEASE, review._

_Have a nice weekend,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	15. The Morning After

_Hallo, my dear Readers,_

_At first: thank you so very much for the reviews. I am so happy that you liked the last chapter so much, and – this I can promise – after a short interlude of typical Malfoy-pride and –arrogance the relationship of the two will grow, even if both are going to be shocked about their blooming emotions._ _And now: off to Hogwarts, where our both stubborn Head-Students will face…_

**Chapter 14 – The Morning After**

Hermione lay awake that night, sleep a friend that had deserted her. Her mind circled around and around the events in the common room. The atmosphere between herself and Malfoy had always been thick enough to cut with a knife, everyone knew it. And their recent practice of first helping then humiliating the other didn't help the situation. Nevertheless she'd been confused, even shocked, when she realized that he was indeed challenging her to duel, even forced her by attacking her. (She reluctantly admitted he was skilful, using charms and spells brilliantly.) She knew that he'd learned dark spells, those which were barely legal or even forbidden, but he hadn't used them. He wanted to confront her at her level to show her that he was better than she at practical spell-casting. And, in the end, he had defeated her. The moment he leaped into the air, carried by words, the battle was over. Disarming her from above, avoiding her shield charm, had been ingenious. She'd lost her wand and, as a result, her ability to move.

Draco Malfoy ... had ... won.

And he had crowed in his victory, had humiliated her by demanding her verbal capitulation. The second he physically forced her to him, when his long arms closed around her, his wand pointing at her heart, she had felt a needle of fear, even though she masked it with pride and defiance.

But looking at it now, she knew that her fear hadn't been for her safety, but inspired by ... something she still couldn't identify. When he brought his mouth alongside her cheek, and demanded her surrender in that whisper, his breath caressing her skin, something had awakened deep inside of her. Something she didn't recognize. Something that had made her uneasy and tightened her stomach into a knot as his lips found that accursed spot beneath her ear ... and wandered along her jaw ... teasing ... maddening. The same something that exploded in her gut the moment his mouth closed over hers ... allowing him a victory totally different than a moment before …

Hermione groaned, shook her head to clear the image, rolled over and pulled her blanket more tightly about her, shivering.

_That kiss…_

It still lingered on her lips, a soft tingling sensation, warm. She still could taste him – so fresh, so damn _good_ – the battle of tongues still clear in her mind. And still she could feel his hands on her body, wakening an ache in her that had an unfamiliar personality of its own, and she wanted more. It was … the best kiss she had ever shared with anyone.

And that anyone had to be – damn it to hell! – that royal pain in the arse Draco bloody Malfoy, the bane of her existence!

Groaning again, Hermione rubbed her face, sitting up in bed, propping her head on her knees, she watched the raindrops running down the glass. She had forgotten to close the curtains, but she didn't mind in the moment. Her thoughts were on another matter.

Why had he done it? He loathed her! For the past seven years, there had rarely been a day he didn't demonstrate his disdain for her, and this evening he faced her with a cold fury and determination that would have frightened away the most students. He fought her with carefully controlled wrath, desiring to humiliate her by forcing her into admit defeat, but then he changed suddenly, his attempt to force her confession had turned into an erotic assault that had chased away any thoughts of she might have had of resistance. Helplessly betrayed by her own body, she only had been able to return his kisses, clinging to him as a drowning person to a lifeline. Abandoning the fight had felt so very good, and for long moments she had forgotten who she was and, more than that, who _he_ was.

Sweet Merlin, where would it have gone if that irritating portrait hadn't interfered? How far would she have let him go?

The second the voice of Sir Meal had reached their ears, and her captor had ended his assault, she fought her way through the sparkling pink sexual fog to a bitter reality that crashed down on her like a bucket of icy water, finally aware of _whom_ she was kissing, and _whose_ hand was on her bare back, while he pressed his hard length into her body. She did the first thing she could think of: she slapped him, with all the shock and fury that flamed up in her.

_How dare he!_

Hadn't it been enough that he'd beaten her in that stupid duel and humiliated her by paralyzing her legs and hands, then demanding complete capitulation? Did he have to show her exactly how helpless she was by using his sensual talents? She knew that half of the female population of Hogwarts gossiped about him like he was some kind of sex god, and she was convinced that one of four or five girls about their age had been "with him". How many girls had sat at breakfast with sleep-deprived but dreamy eyes, and Draco had smirked or winked at them? Too many, if she'd read them right over the last three years.

And why she hadn't tried _anything at all_ to escape him? Even partly immobile as she had been, the question was beyond her.

She stuffed her blanket in her mouth and screamed her frustration.

She didn't need this pompous, arrogant, self-important FERRET to carve another notch on his bedpost with her name on it (metaphorically speaking). She wasn't one of those ridiculous girls who sighed at the mere sight of his stupid white-blond hair. She didn't even _respect_ him, so why had her body betrayed her like that the instant that damn Slytherin changed his tactic and kissed her mindlessly? She had Ron! Warm, kind-hearted, sweet, loving and funny Ron, who had risked his life for her more than once, who could made her laugh or angry from one moment to the next, loyal and genuine, and to whom she'd felt a deep affection since their fourth year.

Even when she dated Victor Krum, she was hoping that Ron would finally see her not only a comrade and friend, but also a girlfriend. His statement 'Hermione, _you're_ a girl' when he was desperately searching a girl to accompany him to the Yule Ball, had infuriated her. It had been obvious he was jealous when he saw her with Krum, had hurt her, but also showed her that he was growing up and was slowly changing into a man. Yes, it had been more than three years until he finally realized what they both were feeling. Those months he'd dated Lavender Brown had been a horror for her, but in the end, during the Battle of Hogwarts after they returned from the Chamber of Secrets and he reminded them all to warn the House Elves, they had acted out their hidden feelings for a long and precious moment. And afterwards, they'd become so much closer.

So why – dear God, why? – had Malfoy been able to drive out even the memory of even her own name, and inspired a lust in her that almost frightened her? He was the complete opposite of Ronald Weasley, not only in appearance but also in behaviour. She had never wanted to have anything to do with him, especially not like this, but when she closed her eyes, she could again see his expression, lost in pleasure and desire, his lips caressing hers and his arms holding her like steel.

She almost screamed in frustration again, and for the first time in her life she wondered about the affect of a glass of Firewhisky. She was never the type who sought escape through alcohol, but right now, she wondered what it would be like to get drunk – which was impossible. After all, there _was_ class tomorrow.

Sighing loudly, she left her bed, tiptoed into the bathroom and splashed her face with cold water, brushed her teeth for more than five minutes to get rid of his taste, and finally returned to her room, groggy and oddly exhausted – finally tired enough for sleep. A sleep that was invaded with dreams which left her sweating. _He_ was there, of course, holding her down to the mattress, kissing and fondling her to utter distraction, ready to give in, to give all.

When she finally awoke in the morning, she felt beaten up, hot and frustrated, heart pounding, knickers damp, and an aching longing in her womb that made her dizzy. And she hated him for it! She hated him worse than before, because he had dared to change the rules in a way she couldn't cope with.

She heard him showering, and shoved her fingers in her ears, furiously attempting to direct her thoughts from the mental image of him naked under the streaming water. She'd already had an eyeful of his body once. And as she dressed for school, she cursed like a coachman when she saw the bruises at her neck – hickeys! So, not only he had left his huge muddy footprints all over her psyche, but also visible on her body. Mentally assigning him to hell for all eternity, she quickly did an illusion charm to mask the evil marks, grabbed her bag and left her room, accompanied by Crookshanks who liked to stray through the school grounds.

The Head Girl feared that her friends would immediately see that something wasn't right with her, but this time fortune was with her. Ginny and Ron met her with the news that McGonagall had been in the Gryffindor tower very early that morning. She'd brought them to her office where Arthur Weasley contacted them via fireplace. The connection in Minerva's rooms were safe, and so the two siblings were reassured that their parents, brothers, sister-in-law, and Harry's god-son were fine. The Weasleys had been brought to a secret location in Ireland, a safe house for the Order of the Phoenix hidden near Donegal in the north, and they would contact Ron or Ginny whenever it seemed appropriate. Molly, who finally shooed her husband away from the fireplace and took his place, begged her two children to remain on Hogwarts' grounds where they were safe, and both promised her to be careful.

So Ginny and Ron were in a more expansive and cheerful mood when they all came to breakfast. Hermione looked and felt somewhat irritated and distracted, but that changed when she heard the good news. She loved Arthur and Molly like family, and she was glad that they were safe and – apparently – out of reach. But before her friends could ask her about her apparent fatigue, the soft whooshing of the morning mail was heard. Most of what the owls carried was covered by water-repellent charms. Some squeals and laughter were heard when the owls sprayed the students with water, but Hermione wasn't paying attention. That is, until the school owl she'd sent to her mother dropped a large heavy envelope wrapped in a plastic bag by her porridge bowl. The plastic wrapper was the Muggle method of keeping documents from water damage, and no less effective than a charm.

A second owl brought the _Daily Prophet_ and hopped about impatiently until Hermione put one Knut into the little sack the bird was carrying on its leg and immediately flew off.

"What's that?" Wilhelmina pointed curiously at the odd package. Ron lifted both brows. "Muggle-bags, made of some strange stuff. Dad loves to collect them. They're incredibly stable. Only the handles can tear if you load too much into the bags."

Harry and Hermione shared a grin at his description. They knew all too well of Mr. Weasley's affection for anything Muggles used in their daily routines. She took the package, then noticed the others on the table, like Wilhemina and Neriman, looking at the package with some interest. "Finally!" she said brightly. "The photos from our holidays in Australia!" she said, giving Ginny a pointed look. Ginny instantly understood.

Unlike Ron. "Photos? From Australia? I thought…"

"Yes, after I found my _parents,_ we took a holiday there to sort out the latest _events_, as I told you on _Saturday_!"

Ron gasped, not because of a bolt of understanding, but because Harry had kicked him under the table. "O-o-okay!" he managed and grinned sheepishly. "I'm still a little bit groggy."

"Yeah, I know!" Hermione grumbled and laid the package beside her, then took the _Daily Prophet_, unrolling it. Quite expectedly, the rough face of an imprisoned Yaxley screamed silently from a picture, his face a twisted mask, his eyes mad with hate and insanity. '_Aurors catch another Death Eater – the Ministry encourages caution_' was the headline and Hermione, who knew more about it than the others, passed the newspaper to Ron and Ginny, and caught up a hot muffin from a pan in the middle of the table. Neriman seemed to have lost interest and was quietly eating her breakfast, asking Harry about the upcoming Quidditch match next Saturday.

After breakfast Hermione shoved the large envelope from her mother into her school bag and to their first class walked with the others, waiting for their first free period after lunch. Walking beside Ron and only half listening to his conversation with Harry and Neriman – still talking about the Quidditch match – they passed the Great Hall. Suddenly Hermione's eyes caught something she had not wanted to see: a certain silver blond head of hair. A moment later, the pale face of her partner was in sight, too, his grey eyes finding hers displaying for just a moment the flash of anger. Then he snorted with derision, lifted his chin and walked away, as if she were invisible.

Fury boiled up in the Head Girl, and glowering, she followed the others, shoving the memories of the last twelve hours into the farthest part of her mind.

Finally the free period came. The four of them grabbed a snack and retreated to Gryffindor tower. Moments later they were perched on Harry's bed, a silencing charm and alert spell around them, in case one of the other three boys came to the room.

Hastily Hermione retrieved the package, tore the plastic bag open, and her eyes widened when she saw the thick expanding envelope her mother had packed for her. She opened it and her gaze fell on more than two dozen sheets, all with dense printing, including some drawings. Two sheets of newspaper were also included, as well as a letter in her mother's handwriting.

After a nod, Harry took several of the sheets and started to go through them, Ron and Ginny did the same, while Hermione unfolded the note from her mother, her heart filled with hope and dread. Even if her parents had understood why she had done what she did, and were grateful for her impulse to keep them safe, there had been an awkwardness between them after their memories were restored. Hermione felt that her parents were shocked and possibly hurt that she used magic on them without asking, especially in such an invasive manner. The girl feared that her mother and father would never fully understand the sacrifice she had been ready to make for them.

So she started to read the written lines with some hesitation, but – to her joy and great relief – they had the same loving, warm tone she had always read in letters from her mom. Maybe her parents had sorted out how difficult this had been for her, too.

_Darling girl,_

_Your owl gave our new neighbours a shock at its arrival, for they were our guests for dinner this evening. You should have seen their faces when I told them that my daughter trained this beautiful night hunter as kind of carrier pigeon. I swear, if I had had a camera at hand, I would have used it and sent you the picture. Susan especially had the most baffled and disbelieving expression you can imagine, and I'm certain you remember how her face always looks like she's hearing something completely new. She's such a sweetheart. I imagine she's somewhat like that Luna girl you've told us about._

_So, you and your friends are doing Egyptian studies because of Egyptian students in Hogwarts? This sounds quite interesting and, at least, something out of the ordinary for you. Please, don't get me wrong, but most of your lessons that you've described to us have become more and more difficult for your father and me to understand over the last few years._

_I searched the web for you and collected everything I could about the requested gods. I also found an interesting background story about the cobra called Uraenus. It has a double meaning as well as this crocodile-god Sobek. Anubis and Basted have interesting roots, too, but I'm sure you'll be able to read more between the lines than I. _

_I also enclose two clippings from the _Times_, which might be helpful, too. There was a robbery in Paris at the Louvre in early September and the thieves were able to steal some ancient Egyptian artefacts. And last Tuesday, there was a burglary in the British Museum, also in the exhibit rooms of Egypt, but nothing was pilfered. The alarm went off and the night guard swears that he saw some shadows. If it had been Halloween, it would have made a nice ghost story._

_I hope you and your friends are well. Are you still dating Ron? I only remember him from three years ago, but the photos you showed Dad and me and his actions during your conflict lead us to believe he is a fine young man. Perhaps you can invite him for Christmas or Easter? He'll be welcome here as well, along with any of your other friends._

_Our new dental practice is picking up, and…_

The letter went on with some of the details of their daily life, and how they were coping with being back in England. They even contacted some of their old friends, telling them that they had attempted a new life in Australia, just as an experiment, but had missed England too much. The note finally ended with declarations of love, and that Hermione should write more often.

As the girl finally folded the letter, her friends were already busy reading the printouts, but Hermione searched out the two newspaper articles. She finally found them beneath the assorted piles Harry, Ron and Ginny had already started to compile, organizing the information according to the different Egyptian gods. Granger pulled the two clippings out and started to read them. Last Tuesday had been the day the two Hufflepuffs had found her during her night-patrol. It had been her first encounter with this strange shadows and she was more convinced than ever that the noises she heard and the black cat on the roof beneath the open window were the same that she, Harry and Malfoy witnessed on Friday. It couldn't be a coincidence that there were intruders in the Egyptian exhibit at the British Museum, when at the same time the shadows were active here in Hogwarts.

And the theft in Paris? Something clicked when she read the name of the capital of France, the Louvre and a robbery in one sentence, linked with their visitors. Hadn't Abdelghani said that he and his four students had detoured to Paris before they came to Britain?

Hermione took the older newspaper and read the article. It had been the Sunday before she returned to Hogwarts, one day before she stepped onto Platform 9 ¾. The article mentioned that only artefacts from a specific period had been stolen, from the 20th dynasty, approximately 1180 until 1070 BC, two artefacts – a spear and a headwear – had been dated to the years 1180 until 1150 BC, and belonged therefore to the period when Sethnacht and his far more popular son Ramses III had ruled the land of the Nile. The thieves came in the night, unseen and soundless, and as the alarms went off and the heavy gates closed around the invaded area – impregnable and secure as a high-security-wing of a state prison – the guards found cabinets destroyed and some of the irreplaceable exhibit pieces missing. According to the article, there was no trace of the thieves.

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. They could not think this was a coincidence anymore. No way! At the time their new teacher and the four visiting students arrived at Hogwarts, the Louvre in Paris – one of the most secure museums of the world – had been robbed. A few weeks later, there were intruders in the British Museum in London, only interested in ancient Egyptian artefacts.

"Guys…" she started slowly. "I think I found something." Quickly she filled in her friends on what she'd read and her conclusions concerning their research.

"So, both times our visitors were in the vicinity, something went missing in the Muggle word," Ron concluded, and Hermione sighed deeply.

"The second time they don't seem to have taken anything, but invaded the British Museum and escaped in a manner only accomplished by wizards. And it was the evening I first saw the shadow and heard the growling." She leaned forward, braced on her forearms, the last article dangling in her hand. "I think we have a connection."

Harry nodded. "I agree. I remember a visit to the British Museum with the Dursleys – they called it a great honour, but for me it was a punishment. I was only eight. I remember walking through those endless hallways and looking at old tools, weapons, paintings and scary corpses. It wasn't my idea of a fun time. Dudley and I were of the rare same opinion about that visit." His friends chuckled. "But one thing I do remember, even as a small boy: The security around the museum was extensive. Dudley kept pointing out cameras, and laser lights and great iron gates set into the ceilings. Escaping without being caught on camera would be impossible. And if the _Times_ writes 'like magic' they're hitting the nail on the head. I have to ask, what does our guest want with those ancient artefacts?"

"Maybe we can find some parallels," Ginny suggested. "In this other description in their newspaper they wrote…" She took the sheet and sighed. "Really, Hermione, I will never get used to those stationary photographs!" Harry and Hermione grinned at her and each other. "Well, they said that the stolen artefacts are from same time period," she continued. "We could start there."

"What about the gods your mother sent those book pages of?" Ron asked.

Hermione didn't correct him, that these pages were not ripped from a Muggle book (the very idea shocked her) but printouts. She knew what he meant, but she thought better of correcting him. "They all seem connected by a kind of being related to Ra or Re, the god of sun, or to the opposite, the god of Darkness. And somehow they all went through changes which linked them even more closely together," the Head Girl answered. "I'll try to diagram their interconnectedness, create a flow chart of sorts. Perhaps that way we can find out more about their real purposes for roaming through Hogwarts.

"Maybe," Ginny said thoughtfully, tapping her chin, "maybe the moment of time they appeared is key as well," Ginny thought aloud. "As Ron and I learned during our trip through Egypt, the lunar phase was important to the ancient peoples."

"Yeah," her brother nodded. "The moon was considered the night sun or something like that and they measured a lot of things by its phases."

"That could be a hint," Harry nodded. "I'll check the lunar phases and compare them with the nights we saw those shadows."

"Good idea. Oh," she added, "don't forget the days of the robberies. Maybe it fits into the pattern – if we can already talk of a pattern."

"Yes, well," Ron cut in, looking around and shoving his quill back in his bag, "I've found a pattern for us all since we began this school year, namely that we're going to be too late for Charms if we don't leave _now_!"

Gasping the other three looked at their watches and, yes, they had only five minutes left to reach class in time. Hermione collected the sheets, put them back into the envelope and sealed it with a spell only she was able to undo, while Harry broke the security charms around them. "All right, next time before dinner," he called, while he snatched up his own bag, following the others running.

They made it in time, just before Flitwick arrived. Immediately Hermione's gaze fell on someone in the first row, looking at her as if he blamed her for every unfortunate event happening in the world. Malfoy's silver eyes glittered with irritation and reproach, before he slowly turned back to the book he was reading, sneering as she passed by.

Hermione had no desire to exacerbate the conflict between them, but she had to make a move, to show him she had not backed down, and would not be used like a roadside tramp. Stopping beside his desk, she put a hand on his shoulder, squeezed it hard and bent down; her brown eyes were dark with anger. Her voice was barely audible, but very clear to the person it was meant for. "Try anything like that again, Ferret, and you can book a room in St. Mungo's, for only they will be able to save your 'goods' for future use!" Not giving him a chance to answer, she walked away, head high, jaw set, her shoulders straight. And she didn't even notice that nearly all students present were watching her – amused, wary. And there were none in the room who did not want to know what was really going on between the Slytherin Prince and the Gryffindor Queen. That 'game' of theirs seemed to have taken another direction, intense and severe.

Draco stared open mouthed after her, not even realizing that he was gaping. What had that ridiculous bint just said? She had hexed _him_ – there was NO other explanation for the sudden desire he felt last evening, and (Merlin help him) during the whole night – and now _she_ was threatening _him_? Had she lost her freaky little _mind_?

If not for Flickwick's entrance, Malfoy certainly would have confronted her, even in front of the whole class. So he swallowed his wrath and contented himself with throwing evil glances at her. As class finished, she vanished with her friends before he was able to reach her. He balled his fists. She couldn't run away forever. He would speak to her this evening, and if she didn't have a good excuse for the spell she'd used on him – and didn't explain how she was able to do magic without her wand, after all he knew that she had never learned it – well, then -

"Are you coming?" Abdel stood at the door, waiting for him and he pushed his anger aside once again, walking out into the hallway, the cool mask in place. Inside something completely different was boiling.

He hadn't slept well last night – huh, an understatement. Even after tossing and turning for over three hours, his thoughts circled around the Mudblood. And whenever he closed his eyes, he could feel her slender strong hands on his back and in his hair, and her soft lips beneath his, her warm breath on his cheek and her sweet body melting into his. And even breakfast hadn't banished the taste of her – her fresh sweetness, like wine and honey. It still lingered in his senses and tickled his nostrils. He was mightily tempted to visit the hospital wing to ask Madam Pomphrey to remove a 'smell' he had in his nose.

And then this lowly tart had the nerve to _threaten_ him? He couldn't believe such an audacity. She called _him_ 'arrogant', but her pride was large enough to wrap the whole of Great Britain in it!

Cursing inwardly he walked with Abdel to their next class, this one fortunately NOT shared with the Gryffindors. He didn't know if he would have been able to tame his wrath and frustration again – nor to ignore the odd tingling on his lips whenever his gaze found a certain bushy-haired girl with the fierce temper.

Hermione returned very late into the Heads' dormitory that evening. She'd been helping Ron and Harry with Ancient Runes – again – and then visited the house elves in the kitchen, where she was greeted like a Quidditch star among fans. The time had gotten away from her. It was past eleven o'clock when she finally found the way to their shared dormitory, waved to a sleepy knight, who yawned while he opened the door, and stepped into the common room with hooded eyes. Since her return to Hogwarts sleep had been a rare luxury, and now, after the battle with sleep the night before, she was very tired.

Malfoy was still up, sitting on his sofa, reading. He looked like the poster child for the sleep-deprived, but nevertheless he stood up the moment she came into the room. Even if his eyes were reddened with fatigue they pierced her, making her uneasy and woke a memory she so wanted to forget. "Granger, we have to talk!" he said coldly, but was surprised when she answered flatly:

"There's nothing we have to talk about. I don't want to talk to you at all!" She moved toward the stairs leading to her room, determined to ignore him, but Draco was quicker, blocking her way. Frowning she looked up at him, heat made of fury, embarrassment and something she couldn't put a finger on, rose in her. "Get out of my way!"

"I do think I made it clear last night that you will not order me about!" he stated firmly, anger in his eyes – which widened, when a moment later a wand was pointed directly at his nose, and he was staring cross-eyed at it.

"If you want to leave this room sane and with all limbs intact, you never – NEVER! – speak of last night again, Ferret!" she snarled, reminding him again of a female lion, ready to attack. And it tore at his control, while his face flushed.

"Do you _threaten_ me, Mudblood? After you HEXED me?" He had to hold tight to his composure to stop himself from shaking her.

"I? Hexed YOU? Have you bloody lost it?" Her voice was growing shrill. "First you forced me into that duel by simply _attacking_ me, then you used a spell that is barely allowed, paralysed me, humiliated me by coercion to telling what you want to hear, because you took some kind of a perverse glee in stretching your false victory, and then you assaulted me in the most depraved manner possible. And now you have the nerve to accuse me of HEXING YOU?" She was yelling now, her face red, her eyes ablaze.

Before she could react, his hand had her wrist and forced the point of her wand away from him; anger also on his face. "You said you can't do magic without a wand. You-"

"I CAN'T DO MAGIC WANDLESS, YOU MORON!" she screeched.

"LIAR!" This time it was he who reminded her of a lion; a white lion, roaring its fury and frustration to the world. "There is _no way in hell_ that I would have approached YOU like I did without being _under a spell_!"

"Oh yes. So, instead of knocking you out, or undoing your damn freezing charm that forced me to bear your unwelcome embrace, I used a spell to lure you into _kissing_ me?" she shouted back, irony dripping from her voice. "I told you before: I would rather die a virgin than give myself to someone _like you_!"

"YOU KISSED ME BACK!" he shouted, one hand still held her wrist in an iron grip, the other hand clasping her left arm tight enough to leave bruises.

"Because YOU hexed ME!" she yelled, trying to ignore the warmth that was seeping from his fingers into her skin, found its way into her veins and infected her body. And that he was so damn close again didn't help one bit to deny the memories of last night's events.

"Me? Hex you?" he scoffed. "As if _I _would try to make _you_ willing to touch ME."

"You're already touching me, Malfoy, and if you don't get off me this instant, you're -"

He shook her, hard. "Don't you dare to boss me around, you filthy piece of scum! You used some obscure magical trick to distract me and to change your total defeat into some sort of victory. And afterwards you slapped me. You SLAPPED me, you silly bint. And I warn you one time only: If you ever do anything like that again, you'll see the other side of me you've only caught glimpses of until now."

She refused to be afraid of him, seeing his menacing expression, and shoved him back with her arms, trying to break his grip on her, hurt and hate in her eyes. "If you are such a pervert that it turns you on to hold a girl captive by physical force, then don't blame the girl for it."

"You ... turn me on?" His voice rose to a higher pitch. How dare she…? Oh no, there was that tugging in the middle of his body, seeing her flushed and angry like this, and smelling her sweet scent, and his reaction was anything but welcome.

She lifted her chin, teeth in a snarl. "Get a grip on your hormones, Malfoy, or I'll show you that I'm not called the brightest witch of our age for nothing. And I do know some very effective spells to keep you more than uncomfortable!"

He let go of her by pushing her back, away from him, and she stumbled, keeping her balance as she hit the wall. His gaze raked over her, a cruel sneer on his lips, and the words came before he could think straight: "You? Turn me on? _You_? You're barely recognizable as a female. Your squeaky little voice could call dogs. I prefer real girls and not poor excuses like you, hiding your pathetic form beneath those stupid clothes, protecting that board you call a bosom behind huge piles of books, with hair that would make Medusa jealous." He took a step toward her, a part of him railing at him to stop, because the girl was nothing like he described. But his pride and his anger had been loosed, and the snake reared and the venom flowed. "You're no _girl_, Granger," he hissed. "Your gender was chosen by a coin toss. I would never take someone as ugly and boring as you to my bed, so go exchange your knickers for boxers and stop pretending I kissed you by choice. You did something to me, possibly with your perfume, to lure me, and when I find out what it was, what exactly you did to me, you'd better be far away, and not cross my path again."

Her face had reddened, then turned white as a sheet, her eyes were wide and her breath hitched. For just a second, she looked like a lost little girl again, like the moment in the Forbidden Forest when the werewolf stood above her. And the feeling he desperately tried to avoid or ignore almost every time he had to deal with Granger rose up once again: guilt. Deep, binding guilt that made him tremble inwardly. And he'd used his own form of the Cruciatus curse on her. A far worse form, for his words would never be forgotten.

And as he watched the tears form in her eyes, tears he'd put there with very bitter and hurtful lies, he couldn't stand it anymore. Turning around he fled toward his room before he did something very foolish, like falling on his knees in front of her, begging her forgiveness. His conscience called him a coward, liar and creep, and he slammed the door behind him, ignoring Sir Meal's protest. He hated it when he made girls cry. And even more when they were truly hurt. And Hermione Granger had been through hell because of his family – one reason more to keep truce. But he felt used. Used in a way he had never been before.

She _said_ she hadn't cast any spell on him. That was impossible. Yes, she had changed from an ugly duckling to a glorious swan, but she was still a Muggle-born, the best friend of holy Harry Potter and, by the way, had fought his family and him. She could be cute, but there could never be…

Cute?

This bookworm _cute_?

He groaned, as he hurled his robe over his desk chair and fell on his bed. For a moment the memory came back, down at the beach of the Black Lake. He saw her in that bit of nothingness of a swimming suit and shorts, how she used the lotion on her skin, her slender fingers wandering over those breathtaking legs, her curls pinned up, revealing that long neck. And then the scene changed. Again, he held her tight, demanding that she say that he won, while her scent enfolded him – and then her soft skin beneath his lips, the sweet cavern of her mouth, her slender arms, no longer held by the charm, slipping around him, her surprisingly strong hands exploring his back, exploring his hair, her body fitting so well to his…

Moaning, he rubbed his face. He had been aroused – more than ever before. He didn't want to admit that there'd been no spell cast, but he knew it was true. She hadn't hexed him, she had never learned to do wandless magic. The truth was that he had simply lost control – and instead of anger, the dynamic had changed into something he couldn't explain. There had been a fire, a longing more intense than he'd known since he'd begun exploring his body's needs. During those moments he simply wanted her, wanted to lose himself in her, yearned to be in her arms and to forget the last few hours.

Why?

Why _her_?

She had been a thorn in his side since he'd discovered that she was bright enough to outdo him. She, who had only learned a few months before she came to Hogwarts that she was a witch, and not just some creepy girl with weird skills or strange accidents, as all Muggle-borns seemed to suffer. She, a Mudblood, eager to prove to the wizardry world that she was as good as they were by being so damnably eager to show off her knowledge. She, who never backed down in the face of trouble – indifferent of mockery, threats or dangers – and who remained loyal to her friends, no matter what, symbolically rubbing her very own type of practical nobility in his face by doing so. She, who always treated him with derision, called him names, even punched him – not to speak of this very hard blow yesterday evening – and didn't fear to raise her wand against him. She, who wore the opposite appearance of those girls he preferred, but nevertheless had changed from a homely little girl into a blooming young woman.

'_An adorable young woman,'_ as the man in him pointed out.

Yesterday evening he had almost lost his sanity, because there was no other explanation why he did what he did. If it hadn't been for Sir Meal, he certainly would have attempted a full seduction. He had wanted to feel her skin on his, her legs and arms wrapped around him, her sweet face glowing with bliss. If not for that damned portrait, he would have ravished her then and there, showing her the pleasures of physical love.

And that was the reason why his anger burned hotter than ever before.

It was wrong! So completely wrong to feel like this. He had always loathed her – the low, Muggle-born Gryffindor – so why had this suddenly changed? It could no longer be guilt from his passive role at her torture by his aunt. It couldn't be because of her help since school began. It was impossible to suddenly transform feelings like hate and abhorrence into fierce desire ... wasn't it?

But his anger and triumph had turned into the wild longing to feel her in the most intimate way, and this. He. Could. Not. Allow. It would change too much, not only in his life and hers, but also his future. Even if his family would not have to fight to regain some respect in the wizardry world, the pure-blooded wizards and witches would point with fingers at him, if he had a liaison with a Muggle-born. Well, not all, not all. There were many like the Weasleys, but his family would be shocked – more deeply hurt by what they would see as a betrayal.

Draco sighed and rolled on his side. There was no sound from the common room. It didn't take any imagination to assume that his partner was crying right now. And he felt it, felt far worse than he wanted to admit. Whatever tiny kind of colleagueship had been formed within the last weeks was now destroyed. He had hurt her before, he knew, but never like this. And the urge to apologize seemed to grow right out of his bad conscience, keeping him awake, made him more and more uneasy and uncomfortable.

No! He wouldn't apologize. Maybe she finally learned where her place was: at his feet. The Malfoy-part in him even smirked a little bit, but the smile faded away at the imagination of her sitting on the floor in front of the wall, burying her face in the folded arms on her knees and sobbing quietly. And this picture remained in his mind – and remained, and remained.

After half an hour he gave up. Calling himself a softy and saying good-bye to his brains, he left his room and walked down the few steps. The glow of the fireplace illuminated only parts of the common room, but he didn't need more light to realize that the space was empty. Granger was no-where to be seen, but he thought he could smell and feel the tears, which had been shed here only a short time ago…

TBC…

_Yeah, I know. Draco really can be a prick, but he had to react like this, hadn't he? To go all smooch-y wouldn't be like him. But the bad conscious his working on him, promised. And in the next chapter he will do something he hasn't big experiences at all: he will apologize. And how does someone something, if he isn't used to it? Yes, a lot of stuttering, etc. I am certain you are going to love it._

_Please, please leave some more reviews, I am starving for them._

_Love you all,_

_A nice weekend,_

_Yours Lywhn _


	16. Awkward Situations

_Hallo, my dear Readers,_

_Thank you so much for the reviews and I am happy that you like this story so much. Yes, I do love to go a little bit more in details, especially concerning the feelings of our heroes, after all our teens are now young adults and starting to realize that this hormonal chaos they undergo can lead to very much more (Imbyrri, I agree with you, I am glad that I left those days behind me, too)._

_In the upcoming chapter not only our Draco finds himself in the awkward situation to apologize, but there will also be more about the Egyptian mystic (Miss Objection, here you go; I am certain you will love it)._

_And now have fun,_

_Happy Halloween to all of you,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 15 Awkward Situations**

Hermione did not come to breakfast the next morning, and Ginny grabbed a couple of waffles and was about to go to the dormitory to look for her, but they met her on their way to class – pale, quiet, eyes red. Instantly Ginny waved Ron and Harry away – "Girl talk!" was all she said – and wrapped an arm around her best friend, steering her away, softly asking what happened.

Hermione shook her head, biting her lips. She wasn't ready to talk about it and Ginny did not push her, but had her own ideas about what could have thrown her headstrong friend offtrack and who was to blame for it: A certain silver blond Slytherin. _They are going to tear each other apart!_ she thought worriedly.

For Hermione, classes were a blur. She couldn't concentrate, always seeing the sneering face of Malfoy before her, calling her all those evil things. She should be used to it. He was and would always be an arrogant, self loving, vicious pig. Worse than that, it _shouldn't_ trouble her what he thought of her. But still…

Hermione liked how she looked, how her body had developed over the last couple of years. Yes, she had never placed as much value in her looks as other girls did, but she liked that her body had grown curves, and that her face wasn't awful. She knew that she was far from being beautiful, and it didn't matter to her, because she was satisfied with her looks and knew that her true talents and strength lay inside, but those hurtful words had struck her deeply. If he thought her so despicable and loathsome, then why had he kissed her? And not only kissed her, but nearly devoured her with an intensity and passion she had never experienced before. It made no sense. It hadn't yesterday and it certainly didn't today.

Draco Malfoy was a womanizer. She guessed that there were actually several Gryffindor girls who dreamed about him, too. And after finding out how good it felt to be in his arms, his talent mouth and tongue making her forget her own name, she knew why. For several precious moments she'd felt admired, desired and desirable, and this feeling had lingered for hours. Even, as she lay in her bed the night before last and tried to sort out what exactly happened, she thought she might be attractive enough to awaken his interest.

And then he threw those malicious words in her face, as if she were no more than a screwt, without feelings and not worth the blink of an eye. It had wounded her to face so much contempt and scorn. _He had no right to hurt her like this. She was a person, dammit, and not a doormat he could wipe his feet on._

She felt used, mortified, and cursed the few seconds of bliss she'd known when he held and kissed her. She should have known better. He probably only did it to embarrass her more fully, and now, at last, he had his triumph. She shouldn't be crestfallen, not because of the Ferret.

But she was.

And then it dawned at her that this was Tuesday, and she had patrol duty this evening with him.

_Oh no! No way! _She couldn't face him today! But she had her duties and they outweighed her personal problems.

As that thought took form, a dread feeling spread in her belly, and when she didn't touch her lunch, her friends began to worry about her. She mumbled something about being sick and even Professor McGonagall commented on her pallor that afternoon. She ordered Ron to accompany her to the hospital wing, where Madame Pomfrey listened to her story of having eaten something that wasn't fresh anymore, some sweets she had brought with her from the Hogwarts Express. The nurse gave her a potion, and ordered her to go to bed early, which Hermione did with relief. No, she was no coward, but she simply couldn't bring herself to face the Head-Boy so soon after what happened.

The nurse informed the Headmistress, and McGonagall looked in after her brightest student in the early afternoon, reassuring the unhappy girl that someone else would take her patrol duty that evening. Later, Hermione took the printouts out of her bag and read them through, learning more about the ancient culture of Egypt, and even started the promised diagram, hoping to bring some light to the dark riddle of the old links between the Egyptian gods. The work distracted her and when midnight had passed, she scolded herself for letting Malfoy win like this. It wouldn't change a thing if she hid from him any longer, allowing herself to suffer from insults from someone who wasn't worth feeling miserable about.

She would pretend that he was nothing more than air, ignoring him completely except when their duties demanded cooperation, and otherwise, for her, he no longer existed. Finally able to sleep, with Crookshanks snuggled at her side, she woke in the morning still groggy, but at least somewhat refreshed.

She managed to avoid him again – except for History of Magic, where she ignored him completely, taking her extensive notes as always. But in the afternoon she was confronted again by the young man she didn't want to see at all. She was on her way to the library and rounded a corner, only to walk straight into him.

Her face fell. For a moment they both froze, and when Draco saw the hooded eyes, the ones normally sparkling with compassion and discovery, the guilt he had managed to shove to the back of his mind, roared to the fore. Mocking and taunting was one thing – and childish for two young adults – but hurting her like he did was despicable. He had a good idea the real reason for her illness the night before. The headmistress informed him yesterday that a Prefect from Ravenclaw would accompany him for the patrol duties, and he knew that it was his fault. He had noticed that she hadn't been at breakfast or lunch yesterday. He knew why.

He gulped. His mother had raised him better than this, and his father had always taught him that a woman has to be treated with respect and courtesy. That it didn't count for Muggle-borns and most Halfbloods, Lucius Malfoy had demonstrated often enough, but still …

Hermione looked at him, and the knot in her stomach tightened before she straightened her shoulders, looked past him, and wordlessly moved to step around him. He reached out and held her back. The mere touch of him was enough to waken her anger again, and turning to him, she glared, ready to spill out hurt and fury at him, when he did something that rendered her speechless:

"'M sorry."

He said it so quietly that she barely heard it, but, on the other hand, it was loud enough to echo through her mind like a thunder. She stood still. Had she heard wrongly, or had Prince Malfoy just _apologized_ to her?

Draco cleared his throat. He didn't use the word much – except towards his parents when he was younger – and it was very uncomfortable. Rubbing his neck he waited for a response that didn't come, but he saw the shock in her eyes and knew he'd done the right thing. Still she didn't react but seemed to expect something else, what he had no idea. Then, as she crossed her arms in front of her chest, and her gaze pierced his, he took another deep breath and repeated legibly: "I'm sorry, Granger!"

Hermione still stared at him, unbelieving. Draco Malfoy, the most arrogant, insolent and cold hearted git of the wizarding world _apologized_ to her? He had to be ill – or under the _Imperious_-curse.

She wet her lips, as he continued: "I…" He looked away, searching for the correct words on the opposite wall, as if they would appear there by magic and tell him what to say, but – of course – the wall remained blank, with an old wizard in a portrait off to the side, who tried to appear as if he weren't eagerly listening for the next words. Malfoy groaned silently and spluttered: "Look … I was angry and … You know … I kind of … overreacted …" He bit his lips and glanced down on the floor. Lolloping flobberworms, this was far more difficult than he had ever imagined. If she would just SAY something, perhaps it would be easier. But he was certain she was not about to make it any easier for him, rather the opposite. When she finally spoke, he found he was right.

"And you think 'I'm sorry' makes everything okay?"

Her voice was quiet. He raised his eyes and saw the bitter expression on her face. For long seconds they only looked at each other, then she whispered, "You hurt me, Malfoy, more than ever before. Almost like the time you stood motionless in the same room, while I was tortured and hoped against hope that you would stop them. I should be used to the fact that I'm nothing more than a waste of skin in your eyes, like a fly that's annoying, but then forgotten. I should be used to your insults, but after what we have been through – each of us during the war and now more or less together since we've returned to Hogwarts – I thought I had won enough of your respect for you to see me as a real person. I was wrong."

She turned again to go past him, but again he stopped her by putting out his arm, blocking her way gently. Her words had hit home, far more than he wanted to admit. "Granger, I … I didn't _mean_ what I said." His voice was soft and sounded uncertain, something quite rare for him. He met her eyes again, saw the pain still in them and continued before he could think better of it. "I was … confused, angry – more with myself than with you. And …" He threw his head back, sighing with frustration as he realized that was giving more away than he ever admitted to himself. "Dammit, I was never good at this."

Amusement touched her eyes. "At apologizing?" she asked and when he nodded, clearly unsure, she snorted. "Quite truthfully: you stink at it."

He looked back at her and as he saw that her face wasn't hard anymore, something like relief flared up in him. "I haven't had any chance to learn it properly," he mumbled, making it sound like an apology itself.

"But you're making a good start, m'boy!" the portrait called out to him, the one wearing Slytherin colours, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"Can't those stupid paintings keep their miserable traps shut?" he growled and, to his surprise, he heard a quiet chuckle from her, which died the moment he looked at her again. The eavesdropper gave an insulted, "Humph!" and Malfoy ran his fingers through his hair, disturbing the sleek effect, desperately desiring to end this embarrassing scene. "Shall … shall we forget the whole thing?" he asked tentatively and watched Hermione closely, as she glanced at him, her expression unreadable.

"You should stop blaming others for your mistakes and weaknesses, Malfoy," she finally answered. "We all make mistakes, but we have to take responsibility for them and, often enough, learn our greatest lessons from them. I thought you'd changed. Maybe you have a bit, maybe you haven't, but-"

He closed the distance to her, still looking nervous and tentative. "I ... I did change, but old habits die hard. I … I… really thought you used some trick to …" He stopped himself, swallowed, and began again, "Look, Granger, I'm sorry about what I said. It isn't true. You're not ugly or barely female. Just the opposite. Seeing your legs or the rest of you in these short clothes at the beach – or in that nightgown you wore – proved that. You really have great le- " His mouth slammed shut, blood shooting into his face, eyes widening. "I … I mean, I …." He stuttered and finally groaned aloud, reaching the end of the blind alley he'd stumbled into. "Dammit all, Granger, help me out here."

Hermione stared at him. "You want me to help you find the right words to apologize to me? This is worse than Ron wanting me to do his homework." His face was red as a tomato now, and – she didn't know why – she took mercy on him, possibly because she was truly amused now, maybe it was her big heart taking compassion on her foe. Lord have mercy, he looked so cute, flushed with embarrassment. "Really, Malfoy, you desperately need to learn how to sincerely say, 'I'm sorry'."

She met his gaze – now grey pools of shock and discomfiture – and smirked suddenly, as he helplessly shrugged, biting is lips. She sighed. "I accept your apology," she said slowly, registering his hopefully expression, "_but_ you'll have to make up for what you said to me." He stiffened and she knew that it had been a great leap for him to ask her, of all people, for forgiveness, but she wouldn't let him off the hook that easily. "I know I'm no great beauty and I can live with that. And I also know that you don't like me, to say the least, but I have feelings like anybody else, pureblood wizard or Muggle. And you trampled them like I only exist for your amusement."

He swallowed again, "Like I said, I didn't mean what I yelled at you," he answered quietly. "I didn't want to make you sick like I did." He took a deep breath. "If there is something I can do for you…" He trailed off, clearly lost for words, but still this small offering was more than he ever did for anyone before.

Hermione nodded slowly. "There is indeed something you could do for me. Treat me like a human being with a little respect. I require no more."

"I do respect you," he mumbled, avoiding her gaze. "You're smart enough to outdo me in almost every class. Maybe that's the reason I get so angry sometimes."

She'd always suspected this. "Jealously is a bad counsellor, Malfoy. But, a problem foreseen is half avoided. Maybe you can work at it now." She turned to walk away, but stopped once again. "By the way, I sometimes envy you, too." She watched him another moment, and moved off toward the library, leaving a confused and completely affected Draco Malfoy behind.

Neither saw the dark eyes watching them with curious interest, accompanied by a thoughtful smile …

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"When there was the break-in at the Louvre, we had waxing moon, almost full. When the werewolf attacked you and Malfoy, we had full moon. When you saw those shadows for the first time in Hogwarts, we had again waxing moon but only approaching the first quarter, just after new moon, and when we saw them, also the day someone broke into the British Museum, the moon was in its first quarter." Harry let his parchment sink to his lap, on which he had made notes about the lunar phase information he gotten so far. "So, what pattern do we have here?"

"So far, they act during a waxing moon," Ginny said, looking thoughtfully at the diagrams and notes Hermione had made. "Maybe there's a reason for it."

"And they don't act during the waning moon?" Hermione pondered.

She was grateful to have something else to think about after her last encounter with Malfoy. His odd and somewhat helpless apology had caught her by surprise, and her mind drifted over and over again to those few minutes on the fourth floor. He had stood before her like a little lost boy, not knowing what words to use. Never had she thought that he would say 'sorry' to her, no matter what happened. Even more surprising, she had never imagined that he could be uncertain, almost shy. And then she remembered that Harry told her a year and a half ago that he caught Malfoy crying in the girl's bathroom on the second floor, Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Myrtle had told him about another boy who was unhappy and in desperate need of comfort, feeling misunderstood and pressured. Later Harry learned that this boy was no one other than his sworn enemy, and now Hermione had gotten a glimpse of this sensitive nature that hid inside the Slytherin-Prince, deeply hidden under a cool mask and covered up by mockery and bluster. Maybe there was still hope for him. Unconsciously she had stored every word of his stumbling effort at apology in her memory, for closer examination later. She held each word in her memory like a rare jewel, which they certainly were.

"So, what does the lunar phase has to do with our 'shadows', Hermione?"

The Head-Girl lifted her head from her notes, startled. She hadn't realized that she had zoned out, and blushed slightly, avoided Ginny's acute gaze, and cleared her throat. "Well, the waning moon means dying or death in the Egyptian mythology. Osiris was killed and his body was torn into fourteen pieces, which stands for the fourteen days of the waning moon. At new moon, the darkness complete, and then the rebirth starts with the waxing moon, reaching its glory at full moon." She sighed. "The crescent moon is also a symbol for a knife, which holds a special place in this culture. Ritual knives were carved in stone, not metal. They were used for sacrifices and to banish evil beings."

"So," Ginny asked, "the moon has something to do with Osiris, the god of death?"

"Partly. The moon is the night's sun and symbolized death and rebirth, the centre of the Egyptian faith. When they died, they thought they would be reborn in the afterworld, if they passed the judgment of Anubis, who tested their souls before he decided if they would have an afterlife or if their body would be eaten by a demon and their soul would walk forever in darkness, hunted by other demons. Osiris was the first who returned from death," Hermione explained and tapped the name on the diagram. "Anubis embalmed his body. It was the first mummification and the only way to make certain that Osiris could rise again. As his sister Isis waved with the 'wings of life' and his son Horus, who avenged his death, embraced him and gave him his eye to eat, he returned from the dead but remained in the underworld as the new God of Death, while Anubis became his chief servant. That was the first full moon after his murder."

"So what's the rest of this about?" Harry asked, looking at the diagrams with his head twisted around.

"Alright, pay attention. All of this happened one month after Osiris' murder. For fourteen days, Horus searched for the 'pieces' of his father-"

"While the moon decreased," Ginny interjected.

"Right," Hermione affirmed, "then at new moon, when the 'night's sun' is devoured by darkness, he brought the remains of his father to Anubis, and initiated the ritual for the re-birth of Osiris, taking the next fourteen days."

"While the moon increased," Ron added, getting into the swing.

"Yes. The waxing moon indicates the gathering of strength and power. So at the next full moon, Osiris arose, claiming victory over death."

"Creepy," Ron commented and looked over Harry's shoulder, not even hearing the raging wind that had started around midday and was now rattling at the windows behind them in the study room reserved for seventh-years near the library.

"How did he die?" his sister asked and again it was Hermione, who answered. "He was killed by his own brother, Seth, who was half mad with jealously. Horus, his son, took revenge for his father's murder and fought against his uncle. He lost an eye – the same he gave his father to eat later – and Seth lost his… well… let's just say he would have made a poor husband."

"Ouch!" This from Ron and Harry, both grimacing.

"Toth, the god of wisdom and the moon, ended their battle. 'He brought peace into their fierce hearts', as it reads, but Seth became the god of the darkness, of chaos and hell – the equivalent of our devil. He was described as a man with the head of an animal, no one could really assign a description of a living animal. It sometimes looks like an aardvark and sometimes like a donkey. In earlier times, he fought Aphopis, the snake of darkness that threatened the sun boat – the sun – now he is its servant. And also crocodiles were given to him."

"The crocodile – Sobek," Harry nodded.

"Yeah, but Sobek was good, stood for rebirth and fertility, the latter because of the Nile, but also for death." Hermione sighed, rubbing her eyes. "And referring to the other two houses of Ashmounein and their emblems, there are connections, too." She pointed at another paragraph that was linked to a different one. "Uraeus, the cobra, is an eye of Ra or Re, the god of sun, the highest of them all. He sent an eye out to watch over the world and, as it returned, a new one had grown and the old eye was left out. To appease it, Ra made the eye independent and gave it the ability to spit fire. Drawing a fire line in the sky, it turned into the mightiest of all snakes: a cobra. It was a guide and watcher of the kings, its fiery breath would protect them. Uraeus was also shown as a man with a lion head-"

"The lion – Gryffindor!" Ron beamed, but shut his mouth, catching the stern look from his girlfriend, who continued:

"And Mehit, the goddess of war was often embodied as a woman with the head of a lioness, wearing the Uraeus symbol on her head. During the centuries, Mehit changed and was split into Bastet, who got her cat head, and into Sachmet, her darker side, still associated with war and battle and showed with the head of the lioness."

"So, there is our circle," Ginny nodded. "Death, rebirth, protection, fertility and love. All of it is somehow associated with them, and all of them dependent on each other and bound together by Toth, the god of wisdom and the symbol of Ashmounein in the form of an ibis." She pursed her lips. "But what has this to do with their shadows here at Hogwarts, or with the burglaries in Muggle museums?"

"Maybe they're searching for something, something they consider valuable that they need."

"And why?" Harry leaned back, hands behind his head. "Most artefacts were brought from Egypt to northern Europe in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries," he explained, responding to the unspoken questions from the Weasleys. He knew a thing or two about Muggle history, after all he'd lived for eleven years among them. And his Aunt Petunia had a weakness for history programs on the telly, so he was often forced to watch documentaries if he wanted to watch it at all. "Several of them remained in the Museum of Cairo, others were brought to London, Paris and Berlin. But if the museums took something from the Egyptian wizard community, why do they want it back now – after such a long time? And, more importantly, why do they want it – whatever 'it' may be?"

"A special date? A ritual? A … a … a birthday of some great wizard from earlier times? A curse?" Ron shrugged. "We don't even know where to start to find out what they are looking for, let alone answer the question of 'why' they're looking."

Hermione rose. "In one week the moon is full again. Maybe we should keep an eye on our 'guests'." She looked at Harry. "Can you find them on the Marauder's Map?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"If we find proof of our theory that they only act during full or waxing moon, then we have the first hint as to when we can follow them and find out what they want." She rubbed her eyes. "And I now have a lot of homework to do, after missing two classes yesterday."

"Are you really feeling better?" Ron asked, looking at her closely – and Hermione felt a pang of bad conscience. Why was beyond her. Malfoy had been the one who had kissed her, not the other way around. It hadn't been her fault at all, but still she felt miserable when she looked at her friend. She hadn't cheated on him, not really, but …

She sighed again, and answered, "I'm fine, Ron, thanks for asking. I ate something that disagreed with me, that's all." She avoided Ginny's calculating gaze and collected her possessions. "See you at dinner," she said with a forced smile and rushed away, leaving her slightly confused friends behind.

"There is definitely something up," the Weasley-daughter said slowly, "and I will find out, what it is."

"She'd been crying yesterday morning. Her eyes were swollen as if she'd wept the whole night," Harry replied.

Ron cracked his fingers. "If Malfoy did something to her, I'll put him in the hospital wing until the _next_ waxing moon!" he growled.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You certainly will not! You would only get our entire house into trouble, _and _McGonagall _and_ our parents, and you'd be no better than those Slytherins. So curb your aggression and let me handle this." She pulled her potion book out of her bag. "I'll find out what happened between Mione and that git!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As Hermione returned to the Head dormitory, she found some sheets of parchment with notes on her side of the table, covered with the familiar handwriting of Malfoy. One quick look told her that these were notes from the two classes she missed yesterday, but seemed to be older. The ink was slightly faded and some dog ears and wrinkles told her that they weren't treated with particular care. A note alongside them told her the amazing truth:

_'It's the material from last year, the class notes you missed yesterday. D. M.'_

Hermione lifted a brow. So, he had given her his old notes! The corner of her mouth quirked upward. "Somebody around here has a really, _really_ bad conscience!" she whispered, shaking her head. Who had ever thought that Draco Malfoy would feel guilty enough about a harsh dispute that he tried to make it up to his opponent? _'Tsk tsk, will wonders never cease!'_

Not knowing what his mood would be the next time she met him, she decided not to 'look the gift horse in the mouth,' and took the notes with her. She knew that Malfoy took a lot of notes during classes – at least he used to, but for now, some of the subjects were a repeat for him, which would change during the year. Why he had chosen to re-take his seventh year was still something she wanted to understand, but she hadn't had any opportunity to question him about it.

Feeling slightly better, she returned to her room and started into her homework. Draco's notes were really detailed, and after she got used to his handwriting, she quickly copied her own notes. Nevertheless, she almost missed dinner, if not for an interruption that amazed her. There was a soft knock at her door, which Crookshanks started up at, meowing, before Hermione went to the door and opened it. Outside stood her partner, still in his school uniform and obviously nervous.

"Um … it's half past seven. Don't miss dinner," he mumbled and turned to return to the common room, but Hermione called to him.

"Malfoy?"

He looked over his shoulder, clearly uncomfortable. "Yeah?"

She smiled shyly. "Thanks for the notes. They … they're very good, and they helped me catch up on the material I missed."

He bit his lips and finally nodded. "You're welcome." He vanished more quickly than she could have imagined, and she quietly closed the door, bemused, and got ready for dinner.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hermione was still considering Draco's latest behaviour while at dinner, and didn't see the way Ginny was looking at her. Her mind was circling around their odd encounters since the afternoon. He was uncertain how to make it up to her, and it was most interesting to watch him struggle to be nice for once. But, on the other hand, she had meant it when she told him that she did accept his apology, but that this matter wasn't finished. He would have to do more to win her forgiveness – if he really wanted it, that is.

Strolling with the others out of the Great Hall, Hermione found her wrist suddenly caught by Ginny, and being pulled after her. "Girl talk!" Ginny called over her shoulder towards her boyfriend and brother, perplexedly watched her almost dragging her friend with her.

"Ginny, what's the matter?" Hermione felt taken by surprise as her best friend pulled her down a corridor, opened a door and pushed her into an empty classroom.

Ginny closed the door firmly and sealed it with a silencing charm. Then the redhead turned around and crossed her arms, looking very much like her mother. "Okay, Sweetie, give!"

It was several seconds while Hermione could only blink uncomprehendingly, then she frowned. "About what?" she asked and watched her boyfriend's sister rolling her eyes.

"Mione, Monday you were completely off the wall, Tuesday you were silent as a mouse, you didn't eat, got sick and even skipped your patrol duties. And today, you get lost in your thoughts and are reacting strangely. Out with it, girl, what happened! And tell me how you got them!" She pointed at Hermione's neck, barely visible because of her turtleneck sweater, but still peeking above the tall collar.

"What do you mean?" Granger, normally quicker on the uptake than the rest of the group, looked completely clueless.

Ginny sighed, closed the distance to her and pulled the collar aside, making Hermione gasp in surprise. "These, my dear, are hickeys!" she said sternly, pointing at the yellowing marks, mimicking Molly Weasley again without even realizing it. "And I'll bet they have something to do with your odd behaviour the last couple of days." It didn't surprise her when her friend blushed a fierce red, pulling away.

"Uh… Ginny… it isn't what it looks like," she started lamely, yanking up the sweater to her earlobe. Damn, the illusion spell must have worn off during the last hour and, with her mind drifting, she hadn't recognized it. And whose fault was this? Of course that miserable Slytherin's! To hell with him!

"You look like a rat in a trap," her friend said, and sighed as the Head-Girl only stared mutely at her. "Hermione, what happened? I thought-"

"I didn't cheat on Ron!" Hermione quickly broke in, her eyes wide while she grabbed for the redhead's hands, fearing what her friend would think of her. "Please, Ginny, you have to believe me! I would never cheat on Ron. He is far too dear to me and-"

"Calm down, Mione, I knew he won your heart long before he had the slightest inkling of it, that moron!" Ginny interrupted her softly and cocked her head, watching her closely. "What happened?" she repeated again, her voice gentle.

Hermione sighed, walked to one of the chairs and sat down, rubbing her face with both hands. "Malfoy!" was all she said, and confirmed her friend's suspicions.

"Yeah, I thought that our Slytherin-snake had his part in it." She took a place beside her. "Go on, tell me."

First hesitantly but then quicker and quicker, needing to tell _someone_ what had been going on, Hermione poured her heart out to her best friend during the few next minutes. She found out at one point that she couldn't stop. Sharing the nerve-wracking events was like a lancing a boil. As she came to the end of her tale, Ginny could only stare at her.

"And … and he _kissed_ you after …" She broke off, clearly amazed.

"Yeah," she replied in a tiny voice, eyes to the floor. "I-I-I didn't know what happened, but suddenly …" She groaned and buried her face in her hands. "I couldn't do anything! He hexed me so I couldn't move, and then…" she whispered, shuddering by the very memory of it, while she tried to ignore the fact that the feelings circling through her were made of fire. "Sweet Merlin, I suddenly couldn't even _think straight_. It… it felt so… oh God, Ginny, it felt so _GOOD_."

Not knowing what to say, Ginny stared past her friend, trying to sort out what she'd just learned from her best friend. "So," she finally murmured, "let me get this straight: he challenged you to a duel, defeated you with some new trick or skills, held you by force, demanded that you say he won, and – all of sudden – he kissed you and then …" She trailed off and looked directly at her friend. "You _did_ slap him after you regained your ability to move, didn't you?"

Hermione nodded, but didn't dare to look at her Ron's sister. "I-I-I did, I even pushed him to the floor, but …" she gulped, "it was some time after the _immobulus_-spell had already worn off." She clawed her fingers into her wild curls, almost pulling out her pony tail. "Ginny, I wasn't myself! My senses and mind were full of him, and only him. I don't know what would happened if that stupid portrait hadn't called out! I was … lost, caught in … in something I've never felt before."

Pushing a copper lock behind her ear, Ginny pursed her lips. "You liked it!" she mused and met the horrified gaze of her friend.

"I bloody hate him!" Granger burst out and gasped as Ginny smirked.

"Nonetheless, you _liked_ what he did to you – or, better yet, _with_ you." She cocked her head. "After all, the girls don't call him the 'sex-god of Slytherin' for nothing."

"Ugh … stop it, Gin, or I'm going to puke!" Hermione grumbled and closed her eyes. She didn't want to admit it, but Ginny was right. "It … it did feel good… somehow," she whispered. "And, even worse, I felt … somehow … you know, special after it happened. That is, until that bastard accused me the next day of not even being a female at all, of hexing him…" She stopped again and lifted her head; her eyes wet. "For a few hours, I felt like a princess, and then that stupid excuse of a man said I was born as a girl by pure accident and that he prefers real girls and not a sorry excuse for … where you're going?" Alarmed, she watched her friend rise and storm to the door, wand drawn.

"I show that wretched pointy-headed squit what it means to mess with my friend!" Ginny snarled, her eyes on fire, reacting to the insults Malfoy had thrown at her best friend.

But suddenly Hermione was in front of her, stopping her: "Ginny, no! This is something I have to take care of myself!"

Ginny's eyes shot daggers. "He put you through hell, Mione, he even made you physically ill, and he will pay for it!" Ginny was a slender girl, whose demeanour was, for the most part, gentle and calm, but not when angry. Those who found themselves at the other end of her wand could tell hair-raising stories about it.

Hermione knew this all too well. She herself was someone whose temper could flare up like an open fire. But this time she knew it would do no good, rather the opposite. "Ginny, he … he apologized!"

Silence seemed to fall over the abandoned classroom as both females stared at each other. Ginny blinked. "He did _what_?"

Hermione nodded. "He apologized," she repeated and sighed.

Ginny shook her head, as if knocking one of Luna's imaginary creatures out of her ear. "Please correct me, I'm not sure I got this right. Draco Malfoy, the most loathsome bastard of our age, Proud-to-be-Pureblood _apologized_ to you?" As Hermione nodded, she whistled. "Remind me to mark this day red on my calendar." She turned around and leaned against the teacher's desk. "And now?"

Hermione shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. He even gave me his notes to help me catch up what I missed yesterday afternoon." She sighed heavily. "Ginny, I don't know what to think about all of this, but one thing is clear: Draco Malfoy has changed. Somehow during the war he changed – and I don't want to spoil whatever good may have come to him." She walked over to a desk, sat down on the desktop and looked straight at her friend. "Maybe his speech about him going through hell, too, was true. Sometimes he seems so … so haunted." She bowed her head. "It's hard to see something else in someone who was an enemy for so long, but … 'enemy' is such a strong word. An enemy – a real enemy – wouldn't care, would try to _kill_ you, but Draco …" She glanced up again, fixing her friend with clear eyes. "He saved me, Ginny. He saved my life out there in the Forbidden Forest. He prevented me from getting the nastiest sunburn of my life, and he helped me out of a bad situation when some other Slytherins were bullying me." She looked out of the window, watching the rain fall. "And he's in trouble himself – he and his family. He's changed, but still it's difficult to understand him or to think of him other than the spoiled brat who only delighted in tormenting us."

Ginny bit her lips, thinking hard. "So …" she finally mumbled, "do you really think he's worth a second chance, or are you simply impressed by his sexual skills?" When she caught the shocked expression of her friend, she giggled. "Oh, come on! He may be a selfish, arrogant, bloody sumbitch, but he _is_ hot. No use denying in it."

Hermione gasped. "_Ginny_!"

The youngest Weasley grimaced. "Don't get me wrong, Mione. I do love Harry with all my heart and soul, and that will never change. But you have to admit that Malfoy really is a sexy wretch, and looks far too good for a bastard like him. And he knows it, uses it, and enjoys being the ladykiller, which adds to his attraction." She sighed. "It really is a shame that he is such a world-class boogerhead the most of the time," she said matter-of-factly.

Hermione's jaw dropped at the ridiculous – and accurate – assessment her friend had just made, and then the laughter started up from her stomach, and before long they were both laughing, peals of it echoing from the stone walls.

"You're so right, Ginny," Hermione finally sighed, "a real boogerhead – until he saves your life." Granger let her head fall back, rolling her tensed shoulders, better now after the laughter.

"So … you forgave him?" Ginny asked suddenly, and Hermione's head straightened.

"No. I accepted his apology, but told him that he has to make up for hurting me like this. He has to treat me like a real human being. Giving me his notes is a start, but I don't think he'll keep it up." She leaned back on both arms on the desktop, legs dangling over the front. "What shall I do? I should ignore him, forget everything ever done or said by him. It was worse than ever before, but still …" She stopped suddenly. Laughter _was_ the best medicine, for her head was now clear, and an idea struck her. "Wait a minute!" she whispered, her expression changing from frustrated into a slowly widening grin. "Ginny?" Her voice betrayed that she had something big in mind, and the other girl lifted a brow.

"Yeah?"

"I need your help!" Hermione's grin grew, a devilish spark in her eyes. "When we go into Hogsmeade in four weeks, I need you to help me pick out the most drop-dead sexy dress possible for the Christmas party." She met Ginny's dumbfounded glance, and gave her a smirk that would have put even Malfoy's to shame. "It has to be a dress that has every boy looking at me, but it has to be classy and elegant as well. It has to show my legs and maybe my back, but it nothing inappropriate. Hmm, yes, it should be long with a slit up the side, rather high, to show my legs."

Ginny had a pretty good idea what her friend was up to. "You want to dress up for our Slytherin-Prince," she stated and Hermione chuckled wickedly. Her friend was glad to see life in that face again.

"Yes. He has to see just how 'random' the choice of female was for me. And as soon as he gets all hot and bothered, I intend to tell him to go to hell. And stay there." She nodded downwards. "He likes my legs. I caught him looking several times. He even mentioned them during his apology as an example that I'm not ugly. I'm not stupid, Ginny. I do know when a male finds me attractive enough to want me. And, beneath that highborn disdain, he somehow has started to see me as a girl he likes." Her eyes took on a look of revelation. "He didn't kiss me to humiliate me, but out of sudden desire! I think my head's clear enough to see now that he was just as surprised by it as I was! Maybe that was the real reason for his overheated reaction on Monday." The look on her face made Ginny glad Hermione wasn't plotting against _her_. "And that's where I'll get him. He will taste the medicine he's dished out to all the girls. He will learn not to mess with me ever again, and that there are situations he will never be able to control." She relaxed, propping herself again on the desk, looking expectantly at her friend. "So, what do you think?"

Ginny pursed her lips. "It could work – as long as you're sure it will not backfire."

"WHAT?" Hermione sat up, amazed by Ginny's response. "How could this backfire? I _loathe_ him!"

"Yes, and he loathes you, but still he almost took you for himself in your common room and he only came to his senses after the portrait called out to him – exactly as you did!" She sighed, and then one of her small naughty devils appeared in her eyes. "It's worth a shot. I'm in!" she grinned and both girls looked at each other with conspiratorial anticipation, hooking pinkies in the promise of secrecy.

TBC…

_Yeah, girl-power! Lord help, when they're plotting a revenge on a poor guy. But maybe Ginny foresaw the whole thing how it will turn out? You will learn more, no doubt._

_In the next chapter there is a lot of action: Quidditch-time! And our Head-Boy shows once more that he changed a lot, but sometimes it can be risky to do the right things._

_I hope you liked the last update and please, please leave some comments. I'm dying of curiosity here._

_Once again: Happy Halloween,_

_Love_

_Lywhn_


	17. Doing The Right Things Can Be Dangerous

_Hi, my dear Readers,_

Thank you once more for reading the next part of my story. As I already told you,

now is Quidditch-time. I hope you're going to enjoy it.

Have fun, Regards,

Yours Lywhen Chapter

**16 – Doing the Right Thing Can be Dangerous**

The week before the first Quidditch match was filled with increasingly complicated classes and growing tension. It remained cold and wet outside, while the Hufflepuffs trained all of Thursday afternoon; the Slytherins used the field Friday – one day before the very much-anticipated game. Philip McLally was still assigned to assist both teams for his Detention, but when he arrived Friday afternoon in the changing room, he felt like a mouse among hungry cats.

Almost immediately, Philip found himself cornered by Harper and another Slytherin player, Patrick Furson. Malfoy and Pritchard were not paying attention and Hooch had left the changing area.

"Coming to spy on us, little rat?" Harper grunted.

"Yeh, pipsqueak, and afterwards tells his Hufflepuff pals about our training!" Patrick Furson added.

Philip stared up at them, taking in their menacing expressions. "N-n-no, I-I-I'm only here for Detention and… aahhhh!" He found himself lifted into the air, a jinx holding him by the ankle upside down.

"Just for Detention. Of course. A Detention that stupid Mudblood made up for you, while she managed to make Slughorn give Baddock and me the sort of Detention no one in Slytherin had to tolerate when _Snape_ was still our Head." A deep frown appeared on his forehead, before he taunted: "What say you watch our practice from a new position? Like it?"

"Let me down!" Philip demanded, his voice shrill.

"Or what, you little twerp? Run back to your Mummy who's home alone with the baby?" Harper mocked, and as he flicked his wand, Philip was hurled through the room and crashed against the wall, where he was still stuck in the air, head down. "Did your dear Daddy bleed to death like the slaughtered pig he was? Oh, I'm so sorry for you loss, you loser. No Daddy, your Mommy left to-"

"Furson, Harper, are you coming to training or…" Draco stopped and looked up at the small boy hanging in the air, blood and tears running into his hair. "What in blazes…?" he began, but was interrupted by Furson, who pointed at the child.

"How can you tolerate a spy among our team, Malfoy? He runs straight to the Hufflepuffs right after practices and-"

"HAVE YOU LOST YOUR PUNY LITTLE MIND?" the team captain exploded. His eyes narrowed, stormy grey, his wand appeared in his hand, pointing it at Harper. "Set the boy down, or, sure as crap rolls downhill, I'll put you in the bed next to Baddock!"

"Traitor!" Harper hissed. "You turn against us to protect the Mudblood, then lie about Malcolm and me to save your pathetic hide, and now you allow that little rat to spy on us. Or maybe _you're_ the one spying all along for that old fool we had as headmaster and that stupid phoenix club!"

"I never…" Draco started, his pale face flushing, but the other young man continued cruelly.

"Like playing the big hero now, don't you, Malfoy? Trying to be like Potter with all your saintly doings, thinking it will buy you an easier future? Are you sure you're still a Slytherin or should we put that ridiculous hat on you one more time to find out?"

That did it. Draco didn't even move his mouth. Immediately disarming the two, he caught their wands while binding them parallel with a stunning spell, and preventing Philip crashing to the floor by using the slowing charm as soon as the jinx was lifted from the child, making sure that the boy was set down gently. All this was accomplished so quickly that the two combatants and the boy were unable to follow it. "Malfoy!" Harper screamed, struggling ineffectively, wondering just how good the Head Boy was in nonverbal spells. He couldn't remove the jinx and found himself in the situation he loved to put weaker ones in: completely helpless. "How dare you, you ragged mousy turncoat? First Malcolm and now me!" he almost screeched, his face red with rage, while his comrade in oppression glared daggers.

Draco approached, towering over them like a god of vengeance clad in green and silver. "Listen, you two, and listen closely, because I will not repeat myself. I do NOT tolerate insubordination. I won't tolerate your behaviour towards me any longer. And I certainly will not allow your childish pranks to affect our team! Assaulting a child is no proof of strength. If you, Patrick, are so eager to prove your skills then you have plenty of chances outside on the field – or during class. You're a grown-up, or I thought so until a minute ago, and if you don't act like one, I'll kick you off the team quick as silver."

"I don't take orders from traitors!" Patrick hissed back. "A Slytherin who values the well-being of a Gryffindor, a _Muggle-born_, more than his own housemates can just plain go to hell."

Draco crouched beside him, his fierce glare fixed Furson's. "In case you hadn't noticed, or that you're just too stupid to see it: the war is _over!"_ His voice was ice, sharp enough to pierce. "We are students in a _school_ and not warriors who refuse to end the insanity. We are talking about a small child here who has done you no harm, and other students, _even_ Gryffindors. We are rivals, yes, but if it comes to doing real harm you go too far. One last chance, Furson: consider my words, accept my point of view, and me as your captain, or you're off the team."

He glared at Harper. "And you: five o'clock, headmistress' office. You injured a younger student, one barely able to do magic, and for that you will face the consequences. I'll see to that. And your position on the team – you're out. I don't need a coward here who only shows his strength when facing those who are weaker." He rose and flicked his wand, releasing them. "Get out. Now." He rose and stepped back.

Harper stood and straightened, glaring. For a long moment both young men only stared at each other, then Harper held out his hand. "My wand!" he demanded, but Draco shook his head.

"You'll get it back from the headmistress and not a moment sooner. OUT!"

"This isn't over, Malfoy! I swear! Looks like you made another big mistake, but this time you'll regret it! You and your stupid Mudblood!" Harper hissed and stomped out.

Patrick, who had watched in silence, glared at his captain. "You're walking on thin ice, you know!" he said finally with a sneer, and Draco arched a brow.

"One of my specialities. What about you? Will you accept the way things are, or do you want to leave, too? No one has to stay who doesn't want to." The aura of control surrounded the tall Slytherin-Prince as he stared at Patrick.

Furson snorted, then propped his hands on his hips, making his decision. "I don't know what you're up to, but you are the best captain Slytherin has had for quite some time. I'm still in, but don't push it, Malfoy. Half of our house is already against you, so tread carefully. I warn you as a teammate. That's all." He bent down for his broom. "What about my wand?"

Draco looked at him a moment before he handed it to him. "Here, but if I ever catch you using it for bullying _children_, we'll meet at McGonagall's office."

Patrick snorted again, and left without wasting a glance on the small Hufflepuff boy, his green robes trailing him.

Draco sighed and rubbed his forehead. He had never had to fight for his status like this, but he was determined to retain it, no matter what. His head turned to look at Philip, who still cowered by the wall, wiping his bleeding forehead with his sleeve. "You all right?" he asked. The boy nodded silently. Malfoy winced when he saw the red trail dropping onto his clothes, and bent down, pointing his wand at the deep cut. He murmured a healing spell he had learned from his mother and the bleeding stopped. Slowly, steadily, the swelling was reduced, and the edges of the wound began to close. "Right, can you make it to the hospital wing without help?" Draco asked, remembering his duty as Head once again.

Philip nodded gratefully, and Draco helped him to his feet. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy," he said with a small voice

"You're welcome," Draco answered and turned toward the door, where he came face to face with Madame Hooch. The short, wild hair of the Professor had greyed a bit more during the last months, but her small slender body was as strong as ever. Malfoy could tell she'd seen most of what just happened. She hadn't interfered. She only nodded approvingly, and knelt to examine Philip's head.

"You performed that healing charm very ably, Mr. Malfoy," she said, not sounding surprised, though she was accustomed to different behaviour from him. She didn't mind the change. She squeezed Philip's shoulders. "Go outside and close the door. Wait for me. I'll take you back to the castle, let the nurse have a look at you." She turned to Draco, lifting a brow. Before her stood a young man, no longer a spoiled boy, infamous for his selfishness. A young man who seemed to have chosen the right direction at last. And she knew that some of his house didn't approve of that direction. Knowing the talents and inclinations of the Slytherin-house, she made up her mind and decided to set aside her neutral status for the moment. "The mood in your team is dark, Draco. The numbers of those against you are growing, and today you made yourself a real enemy. I know Harper and I know Baddock. Watch your back!"

He nodded gratefully, surprised by her words. "I agree," he said, he left finally, asking himself yet again why he was suddenly coming to the aid of others. _Like Potter? Never! Rather the moon would reverse in its orbit!_

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The news that Draco Malfoy had reported one of his own house to the headmistress, taking the part of a Hufflepuff first-year, spread like a wildfire through the school. Even most of the Gryffindors were pleased when they learned that the dreaded leader of Slytherin had protected a first-year, and proceeded to inform McGonagall of the cruelty of his teammate, whose Detention was now worse, in addition to a letter to his family and the threat of expulsion if any more rules were broken. Hooch had confirmed Malfoy's report to Minerva, who subliminally probed the Head-Boy for the changes he was going through, but without result. This Prince of Slytherin was now a giant question mark for the headmistress. The portrait of Albus Dumbledore smiled and chuckled, and the corners of Snape's mouth had turned south.

Had he been the topic of chatter before, he now was discussed openly. "He must be sensitive if he helped the little troublemaker a second time!" "He's a hero. He saved Granger twice, didn't you hear?" "Well, I think he's just dreamy!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, catching the bits of conversations on Saturday morning on her way to breakfast. She had been amazed by the sense of responsibility he had exhibited, but not that surprised. She had seen his other side, that beneath that cold mask, lurked a heart of flesh and not stone.

The excitement in the Great Hall was electric. The normal noise level was considerably louder, and the visual effect of the green/silver pom poms and posters and their yellow counterparts was stunning. Quidditch match today! Ginny waited for Hermione at the house table and grinned as her friend sat down. "So, now it's official: you're living with a hero!" she teased and Granger shook her head.

"Please, Ginny, not you, too! How does a villain become the centre of romantic gossip, as though he's suddenly Robin Hood?"

Ginny burst out laughing, and Hermione turned to her, eyebrow raised. "I read about him when I was smaller, and even saw an old Muggle movie about him. I was just picturing Draco Malfoy in green tights and tunic, using his bow like a wand!"

Hermione, too, had the momentary picture of Draco in the Errol Flynn costume, landing on a large tree limb, and shouting "Welcome to Sherwood!" then she let out a guffaw, too, laughing so hard she had to hold her sides. Harry and Ron approached the table, seeing the two girls sharing a laugh. When the giggles finally subsided, they told the boys the reason, and they joined the merriment. That is until Hermione saw the Head Boy, already in his Quidditch uniform, entering the Great Hall and noticed the shadows beneath his eyes, and two Slytherins behind him, throwing evil glances. His assistance came with a high price. Not wishing him to think they were laughing at him, she quickly changed the subject to the upcoming match.

"I don't like to admit it, but I do think that Slytherin will beat Hufflepuff," Harry said, clearing his throat. He wiped away the tears of laughter from under his glasses.

"Yeah, but they'll have a harder time against Ravenclaw," Ron nodded, snatching up a third piece of cinnamon toast.

"I'm still not used to the new schedule for this year!" Ginny sighed. Neriman, who had just sat down with the four, asked, "What do you mean?"

Harry smiled at her. "Usually the Quidditch schedule, which teams play against which, is the same every year, starting with Slytherin against Gryffindor. This year it's changed, maybe to mark a new beginning after the war. They even moved up the first game from the first or second weekend in November to the first weekend in October."

"Yes, and Gryffindor's first match is at the end of November against Ravenclaw. Then, second weekend in February, is the match Slytherin against Ravencl…" Ron stopped, as a shadow fell over him and looked up.

Luna smiled airily down on them, wearing a hood that looked like a cross between a bird and a deer. "Maybe we'll get some draws this year," she said with a vacant expression. "It would fit!" She left without another word and sat down at her table near Edis, who waited until she had settled down, before he – gallantly – took his place beside her. His expression was soft when he started to talk with her.

"He likes her!" Harry said, sounding surprised.

"Who?" Ron hadn't noticed anything, his attention once again directed to his breakfast as soon as Luna left.

"Edis likes Luna," his sister sighed and, with some surprise, she saw a peculiar smile come to Neriman.

"He has no other choice," she murmured, and sipped her tea, wrapping herself in silence.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Before eleven o'clock, the school virtually emptied toward the Quidditch pitch – except for the ghosts and house elves. The field was at the frontier of the Hogwarts property, well hidden between a hill and the castle, protected by spells and charms. The students and teachers soon populated the tall towers, decorated with house colours. Discussions, bets, shouting back and forth, and laughter filled the arena and echoed from the walls, changing the field into a cauldron of activity even before the game started.

Luna, who would take the part as commentator of the game, climbed into the tower with the professors and McGonagall sighed at her headwear. "Miss Lovegood, must you wear that?" she asked awkwardly, and Luna smiled airily at her.

"It's a present from my father. It keeps the pixies away. They could make me see or say things I don't mean otherwise," she answered, taking her seat near the headmistress.

"Heaven forbid!" McGonagall murmured, making a wry face.

Luna's eyes wandered over to headmistress, waiting for the signal to amplify her voice. Minerva watched her momentarily, then her eyebrows popped up and down, as if giving up, and she shook her head. How this girl had managed not only to survive the war, but also fight successfully alongside her friends as part of Dumbledore's Army – well! Behind her Hagrid chuckled, and as she looked back – and up – at him, a grin appeared on his enormous bearded face. He liked the dreamy Ravenclaw girl quite a bit, mostly because of her fiercely loyalty to Harry and his friends.

Finally, Madame Hooch came out on the field, leading the two teams; the Slytherins in green and silver, the Hufflepuffs in yellow and black. The noise in the arena swelled. "Go Hufflepuff!" Ron cheered as the two captains glared at each other as if the fiercest expression would win the match, then shook hands.

Hermione only half listened to her friends expounding on the advantages/disadvantages of each team. She found her Head-partner, carrying his Nimbus 2001, still one of the fastest brooms around, except for the Firebolt. His movements were smooth, strong, as he shook the other's captain hand and mounted his broom, signalling his team to do the same. Madame Hooch gave her standard speech playing fair, stepped back and raised her whistle to her lips. The shrill noise was drowned out by the crowd, and the players shoved off and rose into the air. Hooch opened the first of the two chests, releasing the two Bludgers and throwing the Quaffle straight into the air, and a second later the golden bolt shot into the air, whirling around on thin vulnerable wings: the Golden Snitch – the practically invisible ball that would end the game as when caught and award the Seeker's team one hundred and fifty points.

"And the Snitch is in the air!" Luna's gentle voice announced – and the match began.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Draco Malfoy didn't hear the announcement, nor the noises of the crowd. As soon as he mounted a broom and was in the air, he was a new man. He had loved to fly since he was a small child, barely able to retain his seat on a broomstick, steadied by his father's hands. Growing up as a member of the noble wizarding caste, afflicted with social events since his fifth birthday, coached by his parents and their circle to watch every word and every step he made, he found he could escape the drudgery when he flew. There were no worries or stuffy duties weighing him down. Here, between the clouds and the earth, he could forget the past and the pain, discard the pretences and false pride. Up here, above the crowd and most of the action, scanning all the spaces between the goal posts, he many times gave his thoughts free rein, and insights came to him with greater frequency. Here his subconscious could sort through the trivia and grand deeds and problems that surrounded him.

Draco revelled in the freedom of being in midair again, feeling the cold wind caressing his face. Then he concentrated on his reason for being there – to catch the Golden Snitch before his Hufflepuff counterpart did – and to lead his team to victory.

Watching Patrick aiming the Quaffle at one of the three goal hoops, he yelled to the two Beaters keep the Bludgers away from the Chasers. Patrick hurled the Quaffle and Hufflepuff's keeper, off position, stretched heroically but inadequately as the first goal of the new season was made. Cheers and booing thundered through the air and Malfoy met the grinning faces of his team, showing him thumbs up, for he had developed and trained them in this first move, taking the opponent by surprise while the game was young. He was back in his element!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ginny was almost hoarse from screaming as she followed the action of the game. After half an hour, Slytherin led Hufflepuff 80 to 20, green and yellow mingled confusingly whenever the members of the two teams fought for the Quaffle. Three times the Bludgers had almost unseated a player, one Slytherin boy was bleeding from his cheekbone, one Hufflepuff needed medical aid of Madame Pomfrey, a third one still suffered from a spreading bruise on his left arm. Quidditch was a rapid game, a rough one, and sometimes dangerous or even fatal, but it was loved by students and professors and the rest of the wizarding community.

Patrick Furson caught the Quaffle again and was on his way towards the opponents' hoops, when the Hufflepuff keeper blocked him, almost shoving him from his broom. A moment later a Bludger got him, hitting him square over the head and hurling him from his broom. McGonagall was on her feet in a trice and slowed the fall of the young man, allowing him to fall harmlessly on the field.

Graham used that opportunity to fling the Quaffle through a hoop, adding ten points to their score. Instantly booing echoed across the oval arena, with shouts of "unfair!" but this was part of the game. He could not let a chance pass by without taking it. One quick look to Malfoy showed him that his captain approved.

"Foul!" Ron roared. "Using a distraction to make points!"

"What else would you expect?" Harry retorted, avidly following the action above them. He itched to join the game, and he could barely wait for the next Quidditch match in November, when he would circle up there in the air, and search for the Golden Snitch, like Malfoy was doing just now.

Suddenly the Quaffle was in the Head Boy's range. Without hesitation, Draco stretched out his hand, caught it, and directed his broom towards the defensive wall of Hufflepuffs, the odd leather ball tucked under his left arm, then bolted forwards. Hands grabbed at him, someone even managed to clutch his cape for a moment, then he was through. He threw the Quaffle with all his might and watched in delight as the Hufflepuff keeper missed it by millimetres and it soared through the hoop.

A hundred points for Slytherin now.

"Whoa, he is good!" Harry exclaimed, watching his old nemesis with a mixture of admiration and professional curiosity.

"Not better than you!" Ron yelled in his ear over the shouts of the crowd.

Potter snorted. "He is a skilled flyer and isn't afraid to assist the rest of the team!" he called back. "I was wrong about them. We'll have to develop some new strategies, if we want to beat Slytherin this year. They're playing like dancing hawks!"

And he was right. Having the greater score, and seeing their captain in such a top form was a tonic to the members of the Slytherin team. Playing rough and more recklessly than ever before, they used the smallest opportunities to their advantage. Soon the score was 120 to 50 points.

The mood in the arena was explosive by now. The Slytherins screamed and cheered, the Hufflepuffs trying to drown them out; the Gryffindors whooped for the Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaws shouted and applauded noisily for every good manoeuvre, indifferent to which team. It was difficult to make out Luna's gentle voice over the noise.

Hermione watched the whole game, tense and excited. She didn't like to fly herself, terrified as she was of heights, and riding broomsticks 'scared the bedoodles' out of her, but she cheered as much as the others. It was impossible to resist the atmosphere of a match like this.

And, without trying to, her gaze was drawn to the one in green with silver blond hair. She watched her Head-partner leading his team to one small victory to the next. He steered his broom with the grace that seemed his birthright, coached his team with the authority and arrogance he was infamous for, and his Nimbus seemed a part of him. He ducked deftly as a Bludger headed towards him and then, suddenly, something caught his attention. There was a quick smile, and he immediately changed direction. Hermione saw the small golden ball, too, her heart raced, but the Snitch vanished in the returning twilight as clouds again covered the sun. Malfoy seemed to have lost it also, because he started to circle the arena again, grey eyes darting at every shadow and movement. And Hermione's eyes followed him. It was a small arrow of revelation when she suddenly perceived that there was a very small part of her that _hoped_ Draco Malfoy would catch the Golden Snitch.

'_Are you barking, Hermione?'_ she thought, shocked by her own unwelcome thoughts. _'You want him to WIN this match? Have you gone nutter? Every point Slytherin doesn't make will bring our team a step closer to winning the cup this year. More than that, it's that world-class dodger _Draco Malfoy_ you're thinking about!' _She shook her head, forcing her attention away from him, and succeeded – until he flew by almost close enough to touch. She glanced up at him, and for the most fleeting of moments, their eyes met. She felt electricity pass through her body. His hair was wind-tossed, his normally pale features a healthy pink from the exercise, and his expression was determination and glee. She didn't see a school rival, nor a boy who already passed the verge of manhood, but a fighter in his element. _NO! She couldn't be that attracted to him, couldn't she?_

Draco passed the Gryffindor stands and ignored the shouts of the rival house, but he caught a glimpse of the shining chocolate eyes. His stomach knotted when he saw her excitement in that fleeting moment, and how her whole face glowed. He was shocked – not because of her beaming expression, but his reaction to it. For that fleeting moment, she was the most beautiful young woman he'd ever seen, and his whole being about to burst with the smile she was giving him.

Circling the field once more out of habit, he felt shaken by the realization that a person he had loathed could touch him like this; something he'd vehemently denied until now. He thought he could feel her eyes on him like a benediction. And it unnerved him, irritated and annoyed him, but also seemed to sharpen all his senses.

Albeit against his will, he scanned the crowed of burgundy and gold again, and he found her curly head almost instantly. Even over the distance he knew that she was watching him and he frowned. Damn! She made him uneasy. And he didn't like it a bit. Starting to circle again for that cursed little golden ball that was diligently avoiding him, he passed the Ravenclaw stand and headed towards the Gryffindor section again. He knew that she still watched him with those large brown eyes, which had begun to haunt him since Greyback and the others brought her, Weasley and Potter as prisoners to Malfoy Manor half a year ago. And for a moment, he was tempted to defiantly blow her a mocking kiss, but passed on the idea. It only would lead to gossip.

Ready to scowl at Granger – which would certainly make her stupid friends freak out – he saw her expression changing. Suddenly there was fear on her face and her scream as she pointed and shouted, "WATCH OUT!"

Reacting instinctively, Malfoy ducked and yanked his broom around at the same time. One of the Bludgers missed him close enough to swipe the tip of his ear from behind. Shocked by the close call, he glanced at her as soon as he had steadied his Nimbus. He was surprised that she would act to protect him, and then he caught her screech again, pointing again. Looking back he realized that the second Bludger was heading at him, while the first was aimed at him again. This was … unusual, reminiscent of the Quidditch game in his second year, when the rogue Bludger was fixed on Potter, eventually breaking his arm.

Muttering an imprecation, he lay down flat on his Nimbus, melding with it like a rider on his horse. With a sinking feeling, he saw that the two Bludgers were quicker than his Nimbus.

_Impossible!_

They could NEVER outrun a Nimbus 2001, but hearing the frantic shouts of the fans, he knew that he was in trouble. Taking another sharp turn, he headed back to the pitch, barking for Graham and the others to play their positions, and zigzagged sharply when a Hufflepuff player shouted, pointed behind him, and avoided the next attack. How strange that a player of the opponent team warned him, but he could spare it no thought. Something was very, very wrong here!

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Hermione saw the sneer forming as he headed toward the Gryffindor stands. She knew that he was up to something nasty. Bracing herself mentally for her mockery before the whole school, the movement of the Bludger caught her eye, heading straight toward his skull and he had no idea.

Granger shot up from her seat before she could think, and screamed: "WATCH OUT!"

He veered away in time, and she felt the wave of relief pour through her mind and body. That had been close!

"What are you doing?"

Ron's shout startled her, and as if woken up from a dream, she glanced at him. He was confused, no question, but he couldn't be more amazed than she at what she had just done. She had chosen a side she never thought she would join, even momentarily. And as the shouts swelled again, she looked and saw the lingering danger coming straight at _him_ again. She jumped from her seat and screeched another warning, pointing at the approaching Bludger.

Malfoy took the hint and took off, steering his broom away in a blur of green and silver and Hermione gulped. It was obvious that the Bludgers were chasing only him. "Harry!" Ginny screamed, standing beside her, "they're hexed, like Dobby did to you!"

Then Hermione knew – revenge! Someone was using the match to take out their hostility on Malfoy. Unable to watch impassively, she leaned over the balustrade and peered about her, eager to find the culprit.

"Hermione, sit back! Have you lost your mind?" Ron's angry voice barely reached her, until he tried to force her back, while Neriman, sitting behind them in the next row, tried to calm him, but to no avail.

"Let me go!" Hermione yelled and she shoved him back. Her frantic glance scanned the Slytherin stands, already knowing what face she was looking for. She spotted him. Pointing his wand from below his waist at the first Bludger, then at the second one, Malcolm Baddock stood there, _furnuncules_ healed and his face a mask of furious pleasure.

Hermione gasped. This was no prank, not even payback. This was dangerous. Malcolm was risking Malfoy's _life_.

"Oh no, you don't!" she snarled, whipped out her wand and aimed at the Slytherin. "_Petrificus totales_!" she hissed and it was pure luck that the pale flash was missed in the present chaos. Baddock keeled over onto his seat, hit by a full body bind spell, unnoticed by his outraged neighbours. Looking up, Hermione saw the two Bludgers flying randomly once again, leaving Malfoy alone. She closed her eyes and sighed deeply, not understanding why she should feel any relief at all.

"Are you bonkers?" Ron's voice trembled with anger. He took her shoulder to shake her. "What do you think you were doing?"

Startled she looked at him. "What?"

Neriman posited a defense for the girl, "She only tried to prevent him from coming to harm..." but Ron wasn't listening.

"You helped the enemy, Hermione," he hissed, " and-"

"The 'enemy'?" she interrupted him angrily. "The _enemy, _Ronald Weasley? He may be a royal pain in the neck, but he isn't an 'enemy', Ronald. Someone tried to hurt him, _maybe kill_ him, and he is, after all, my _partner_!"

"Oh, sure!" Weasley sneered. "And six years of persecution and one year on the run from the likes of him don't count, I suppose, because he and you were forced to be Head-Students together!"

Harry, seeing a full blown argument brewing, cut in: "Stop it, both of you. Hermione did the right thing. Malfoy helped her out, now she's repaid him. It's better to be even with him than owing him." He glanced at her, while on the pitch the Slytherin team took a short time out. "That was the reason, Mione, wasn't it?"

Hermione swallowed, feeling the eyes of her friends on her. Yes, Harry was right. She could not let something happening to the Slytherin. But this was something, she could never share with her friends, to whom her Head partner was still the 'enemy'. And so she simply nodded. "Yeah, Harry. Thanks for saying it aloud."

His green eyes sparkled and he winked at her. Ron snorted and crossed his arms, falling back onto the bench. "I hope you two are even now, because watching you help him is creepy!"

Rolling her eyes, Hermione leaned back in her seat. Her real debt had not been paid until now, and Ronald had to know this. She knew that a life debt between wizards was a connection no one could break until it was repaid. And she dearly hoped that this link between herself and their nemesis wouldn't grow, as she had heard and read about of others in her position.

The upsurge of noise of the spectators grabbed their attention again, and she oriented herself to the score: 140 to 60 for Slytherin, but that wasn't the reason for the noise. Both seekers had espied the Golden Snitch and were after it like bolts of green and yellow lightning.

The golden ball seemed to sense that it had been targeted, and took off, trying everything to shake its pursuers, but to no avail. Both young men had purposed to grab it out of the air and flew at full tilt, as the Snitch headed towards one of the towers and suddenly changed its direction. Malfoy turned with it, his rival flew straight into the heavy fabric that covered tall wooden bleachers, bounced off it, forced his broom around and reappeared, racing towards the golden ball. The students went ballistic, as the highlight of the match unfolded in front of them.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Draco's blood ran hot. He knew that the Bludgers weren't chasing him on their own, but that someone had cursed them. And he had a good idea whom he had to thank for it. Avoiding another swipe by the Bludgers, he headed towards his team, yelling at Graham and the others to distract those blasted things from him. Galloping gargoyles, he didn't want to end up in the hospital wing, forcing him to leave the match, giving up their chance for a victory. Without its seeker a team was weak, with almost no chance of winning. His wobbly reputation would not stand the blow.

"More evasive manoeuvres!" Graham shouted into his direction. "We'll try to protect you!"

Malfoy sneered. "What do you think I'm doing?" he yelled, and dodging one of the Bludgers.

And then, suddenly, it was over. The Bludgers returned to their normal behaviour.

Sighing in relief, Draco caught the referee's attention. "Were you injured?" she asked and he shook his head.

"No, ma'am, but I'm requesting a time-out."

A normal request for a Quidditch-match, she gave a quick nod, and a sharp tweet on her whistle. "One minute, Mr. Malfoy."

He steered his Nimbus to Graham, near their hoops, seeing that his team was completely knocked out of its strides.

"That was close!" one of the Chasers exhaled and Malfoy snorted.

"Wait until I get my hands on the one who tried to pull that against our team." By referring to them as a team and not just himself, he inspired loyalty towards him – a trick he wouldn't have considered in earlier years. His outlook had grown as well. He knew now how important true team work was, having the living example of the Golden Trio and their friends. And by pointing out to his comrades that he had seen not only a danger for himself, but for them too, rebuilt the link which they needed to succeed in the end.

Quickly he reassigned the players, shouting over the cheers and catcalls around them. He even caught the worried gaze of McGonagall. Ignoring the rest of it as best he could, he waved his team into their positions, nodded towards the Hufflepuff captain, and Hooch whistled for the match to continue.

Forcing the last few minutes of deadly peril to a far corner of his mind, he sought again for the Golden Snitch, finding it the same moment the Hufflepuff-Seeker did. Dashing toward the object of his desire, they chased it over the pitch, following it as it dodged past his outstretched hand, while the Hufflepuff-Seeker raced straight through one of the groups in a tower, eliciting an outcry from the fans. Draco didn't look back but pursued the Snitch, seeing the other Seeker returned.

Willing his Nimbus to fly ever faster, he closed the distance to the Golden Snitch yard by yard, following every move it made, even spiralling down towards the field, pulling up at the last second, and directed his broom up towards the skies again, the Snitch immediately in front of him. And then it changed the direction again, heading straight towards the Ravenclaw stands, toward the Hufflepuff-Seeker, who came in from the left.

_No! They would NOT lose! That Snitch was his!_

As the golden ball whirled over the bleachers, neck-and-neck with his rival, Draco felt a bolt of energy and resolve pumping through him. Ignoring any thought of danger, he collected himself, tensed every muscle and threw himself off his broom, toward the Snitch, capturing it in his outstretched hand, while the screams of the students below him reached a crescendo. He felt himself falling and forced himself to relax as much as possible, turning in the air and whispered the _Impendimenta_-spell to slow himself down. Having uttered it wandless, still not very skilled in that type of magic, the charm only helped a little – then he collided with the seats only recently vacated. Seats broke and splintered, screams echoed around him, his whole body slammed with the impact.

And then … it was over.

He lay stretched out in the stands between two rows of seats. He opened his eyes toward the clouded sky, which suddenly lit up as the clouds broke, several faces appearing above him, looking down at him with bafflement and concern. He felt the flutter in his right hand and lifted it to his eyes. He saw the fragile golden wings of the Snitch flapping weakly, the ball secure in his fingers.

A grin broke on his face, much like the sunshine had above, grin became a wide smirk and finally a loud shout of triumph escaped him, while the hand with the Golden Snitch shot into the air.

"VICTORY!"

TBC…

_Ye__ah, our dear Head-Boy develops some kind of bravery, the most haven't given him credit for. _

_In the next chapter he will be 'rewarded' for this kind of action – even if our sweet Head-Girl didn't think of something like this. Yessssss – lemon!_

_Please, please review. I would so like to know how you liked this chapter._

_Have a nice weekend,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	18. In Vino Veritas

_Hallo, my dear Readers!_

_Thank you soooooo much for the many reviews you left. I am completely happy to got some more reactions from you and are glad that you love this story and the plot so far. Yeah, 'hero Draco' really has changed and starts to act on it, but still he has a long way to go._

_In the new chapter you're not only going to learn a little bit of the intentions of the four Egyptian students, but there will also be a cute and sweet scene between Hermione and Malfoy, even if our heroine will find herself in a position, she never has imagined._

_I hope, you have fun with this chapter,_

_Love,_

_Lywhn_

**Chapter 17 – In Vino Veritas**

"Unbelievable!"

"Wow, what a move!"

"Incredible!"

"That's one for the record books!"

"Is he hurt?"

"No, don't think so. I see his fist – the one with the Snitch in it."

The voices of other Gryffindors yelped in amazement while Hermione could only stare breathlessly toward the Ravenclaw stands, where her partner had crashed only moments ago. Her heart had stopped when she saw him racing towards the barrier and leaping from his broom metres above the crowd, hearing the panicky screams ringing over the pitch. She had jumped up and down, unconsciously clutching Ron's arm, as Luna lazily reported that the Slytherin Seeker had fallen into the audience. She momentarily felt the urge to smack the girl alongside her head, because Lovegood stated it so calmly and dreamily, as if reporting the weather or discussing a homework assignment.

Malfoy hadn't just 'fallen' into the audience, he had _crashed_ into it. _Of COURSE_ he'd been hurt! The thought made her feel cold, made her heart stop ...

Hermione's analytical nature, never still for very long, immediately took up this puzzle in another portion of her mind: Caring for a schoolmate was one thing, worrying about them indicated something stronger. To feel terror and alarm for that school mate went much too deep, especially concerning a foe. Of course, she didn't want him hurt, but panicking on his behalf? This shook her. What had gotten into her? It couldn't have anything to do with that ruddy life debt! Impossible! Maybe that kiss had touched her more than she wanted to admit? The memory of it sent warmth through her cold limbs, and she moaned quietly. _Oooooh, she was in such trouble!_

"Draco Malfoy caught the Golden Snitch, and so Slytherin wins, 290 to 60! And he seems to be fine, for the nargles have left him alone," Luna reported, and hearing the result of this neck breaking manoeuvre made Hermione's knees weak with relief.

"Pinch me!" Ron demanded, holding his other arm out towards Harry, who grinned.

"Why?"

"Because either I'm dreaming, or that coward Malfoy risked his neck to win a game."

Ginny laughed. "You underestimated him, both of you. Admit it!"

Harry chuckled and shook his head, while Ron snorted: "All right, somebody tell me, who is that playing Slytherin Seeker, and what happened to the Ferret?"

"It must have hurt," a fourth year Gryffindor boy behind them remarked, admiration in his voice. "That was an awesome move!"

"He is a fighter," Neriman nodded, a knowing smile on her face.

"The last time we saw him on a broom, he was screeching, 'Over there, the door's that way!'" Ronald answered, faking a high pitched squeak, remembering the moment the Fiendfyre broke loose in the Room of Requirement and Malfoy and Goyle were rescued out of the flames by Harry, Hermione and himself during the Battle of Hogwarts. "I swear, he screamed like a girl."

Hermione had released his arm, but now she punched it, none too gently. "Screamed like a what?" she growled. Her eyes shot daggers at him, and, fortunately, Ron assumed her reaction was a result of his comment, and not because her nerves were on edge over a certain Slytherin.

"Uh, no, no, Hermione – he screamed like a _little_ girl. We all know you only scream because of heights!"

"Well, there were those moments on the thestral's back, or…" Harry stopped as her eyes flared, and laughed quietly. "Come on, Hermione, I'm kidding!"

"He's limping a bit, but he looks like he came through it in one piece, looking pretty darn good," Ginny told her friends, watching the Slytherin Seeker in the Ravenclaw stands recovering from his wanton strategy.

"He WHAT?" Ron and Harry said together, staring at Ginny.

She threw her head back, laughing out loud. "It's so sweet, both of you getting jealous!" she giggled, earning a giggle from the Egyptian girl.

Hermione had only listened half heartedly, her eyes fixed on the silhouette of her partner, who limped down the tall stairs, assisted by two seventh years, while a third one carried his Nimbus. Madame Hooch had finally reached him and dismounted her broom, her arms flying wildly around her in what it seemed to be an angry outburst. How could she do otherwise? Malfoy simply gave her one of his well known smirks, the one that enrages adults or makes young girls go weak at the knees.

"You idiot!" the Hermione whispered. "You could have broken your neck!"

Luckily, none of her friends heard her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco was in a cloud of elation. His back hurt, his legs seemed to want to go in different directions, his knees seemed to be filled with pudding, and there wasn't a single inch on his body that didn't ache, but he grinned broadly, holding the Golden Snitch high in his fist.

_They won_! He'd gained the victory for his team and his house!

The cheers and applause and admiring smiles from all four houses made him forget the pain. Madame Hooch lectured him with "That was the most insanely devilish manoeuvre I ever witnessed in my career!" proceeding to "You're going straight to the hospital wing for a thorough check!" and ending with "You're crazy, Mr. Malfoy, but you're one heluva good Quidditch player!"

Even more insanely, _that_ made him blush.

He was still grinning when he reached the field and his team encircled him, slapping his shoulder, shaking his free hand and finally lifting him onto their shoulders, marching over the field, his behaviour of the last four weeks forgotten, his reputation restored. The arena was still in turmoil. He saw with satisfaction that even the most Gryffindors were acclaiming him. He caught the Potter's unruly black mop and saw him punching the air and shouting congratulations. Draco nodded his head briefly in Harry's direction, and – feeling once more the elation of victory – he lifted his both fists again into the air, shouting in celebration.

Up, in the teachers' tower, McGonagall sat, head still shaking from side to side, spectacles forgotten on the edge of her nose, where they'd settled as her jaw dropped when she saw him leap from his broom into midair after the Snitch and plummet into the wooden stands. She finally took a deep breath and pushed them back where they belonged. The headmistress side of her was appalled by his recklessness. The Quidditch fan in her whooped with amazement. Albus had been right – again. There was more to Draco Malfoy than met the eye. Where the spoiled brat once stood was now a determined and courageous young man, unafraid to take risks or to follow his own choices.

She turned towards Slughorn, whose pale face had flushed with joy the moment his senior student rose from where he'd landed to his feet, even though unsteadily. That insane boy! He could have been dead – but now he'd truly earned the victory, and the fame, and deep down, he was glad for the lad. Horace had had difficulties with Lucius Malfoy the day he'd set foot into Hogwarts as a first year, and his son was no different. But for the moment, the older man couldn't help himself but feel proud of his team player.

"What a move!" he cried out, echoing the sentiments around him.

"Yes, indeed!" Minerva shouted wryly, above the noise. "Congratulations, Horace, I've never seen your house team in better form, including Mr. Malfoy's newly discovered tendencies."

She watched the Head-Boy reach the field, hoisted to their shoulders like a hero. And, smiling, she allowed him this victory. She was very familiar with his history, his family, his recent struggles and their consequences, that there were those who would not accept his choices nor the changes in the wizardry world. But everyone needs a success sometime, and she knew that this evening – and perhaps the whole day – belonged to Draco Malfoy.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Minerva was right.

Draco couldn't even change in peace because members of his house wouldn't leave him alone. Where distrust and scorn had been the predominant expressions over the last weeks, you now only saw glee and adoration. Madame Pomfrey firmly shooed the others out of the changing area and barely had time to examine him properly when she had to open the door, which was practically battered off its hinges because of the pounding of enthusiastic Slytherins. Malfoy was sporting several large bruises and two bloody scratches, but – miraculously – he had no broken bones. She shook her head, saying that God always watched over children and fools.

Soon after this, Malfoy found himself in the Slytherin common room. A large fire burned merrily in the open fireplace. The heavy, ornately carved black leather sofas and chairs, usually arranged in assorted sitting groups, were drawn into a large circle, and the heavy iron chandeliers were all lit, making the large, expensive carpets glow. The sunlight had fought through the clouds as he and his fellows returned to the castle. The window in the common room that opened into the Black Lake, framed by thick stone walls, shimmered in green and blue, sunlight dancing like an aurora borealis in the watery depths. Every seat was taken by a member of the house, several were seated by the hearth, others were reviewing all the best moves of the game all over the room, and the chattering echoed from the walls and curved ceiling.

The mood was still manic. Most of the house were in high spirits, and Malfoy was compelled to explain his crazy decision repeatedly, forcing the Ravenclaws to scatter by doing so, in painstaking detail. He laughed with old friends and the younger ones, and when Graham opened some bottles of Firewhisky smuggled into the school at the start of the year, the mood grew even more animated.

Graham Pritchard stood behind the central sofa, watching his captain enjoying himself, then his attention was drawn toward Harper and Baddock, who sat near the lake window, mutely drinking. The young man sighed. He didn't want to pour cold water on the mood of his captain, but it would be better to tell him now what he'd witnessed, before Malfoy got himself drunk. Heaven alone knew what might happen otherwise. Leaning forward he nudged Draco carefully in the side, and when he turned toward Graham, the other tipped his head toward the door that led to the boys' dorms.

For a long moment Malfoy ignored his friend, but when Graham repeated the gesture more firmly and whispered: "It's important!" he finally rose with a sigh, excusing himself to the Greengrass sister, who was leaning on him. He extracted himself from the female admirers and stood. Instantly, several abused parts of his body protested, and he groaned, stretched, and followed Graham.

"What the matter?" he asked as the door closed behind them.

Quickly sealing it with a silencing charm, Graham turned to him, and began slowly, "Those Bludgers?" How was he to tell Malfoy about what he saw without the other losing his temper? As Draco raised his eyebrows impatiently, he continued: "I'm not sure, but I think I know who it was."

Draco crossed his arms, instantly sober. "Who?"

Graham pursed his lips. "I saw a flash from the Gryffindor stands, and recognized Granger jinxing someone in our row. When I followed the flash, I noticed Malcolm sitting motionless in his seat, obviously stunned. It was then the Bludgers veered off and left you alone." He watched Malfoy's face grow pale in fury. Reluctantly, he added: "It had to be him. There's no other explanation."

Draco cursed, loudly and with venom, while he turned around and thrust his fist into the wall. "That cowardly, treacherous, bastard! He can't face me man to man, but sneaks in from behind! Betraying me with Bludgers during a _Quidditch game_! Traitor to his own house! Miserable miscreant! That no account slacker! If he ...! I ... ! You can't ...!" He was running out of words, which had never happened to him before.

Pritchard snorted. "Yeah, Malcolm and certainly Harper, too, will be a problem." He looked back at Draco, his face still flushed with anger. "I was sure those two wouldn't cooperate after you helped out the Mudblood, but I never thought that they would go that far."

Hearing the hated appellation, Draco glanced at him again. "Granger stunned Malcolm, you say?" When his comrade nodded, he shook his head. "First she warned me and then…" He ran his hand over his hair. "She screeches bloody murder at me, then saves my life. Somebody please help me understand females."

Graham chuckled. "Well, you're lucky to win the protection of the 'brightest witch of our age' for yourself." He cocked his head. "And here I thought she would rather scratch out your eyes than help you. But after you saved her filthy skin, and her being an honest little Gryffindor, it shouldn't surprise me at all."

Draco's eyebrows flickered toward each other when he heard Graham saying 'filthy skin'. Granger was a lower being, according to what he had been raised to believe, but her skin wasn't filthy. In fact it was the most fragrant, smooth and soft human silk he'd ever touched and…

With a groan he strode past his friend to the dormitories, followed by a curious Graham. "What's the matter?" he asked and Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. Thinking of Granger and her beaming face during the match, then her attempts to protect him, and just now remembering the moment he had nuzzled her neck and tasted her sweet mouth, lost in a sweet flood of emotion he hadn't felt before, made him dizzy with unwelcome desire, then anger. Damn, she was forbidden! Completely and utterly taboo! She was a _Muggle-born_, by Merlin's long fuzzy grey beard! He didn't even _like_ her ... but ... the memory of those moments he held her in his arms and tasted the fresh sweetness of her was about to overwhelm him.

Not good. Not good at all! "I'm in trouble," he whispered and Pritchard nodded.

"Obviously. We can't report Malcolm or Harper, for we have no proof of their attack. And they're skilled. If I were you, I would be very careful over the next weeks."

Malfoy, who had sat down the bed he'd occupied for seven years before, glanced up at his colleague, realizing that Graham had misunderstood his carelessly voiced comment and was grateful for the boy's incomprehension. If someone in his house ever found out ...

An intense, sudden urge to make her his seemed to attack and burn him, and he realized that she had captured him as no other girl had ever done before. And just this moment, he hated her worse than ever.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Any news?" The words were uttered quietly, in their native language.

Layla shook her head, her dark hair bouncing over her shoulders. "Nothing. There are plenty of books about Salazar Slytherin's earlier works, his achievements at Hogwarts and his point of view which finally drove him away from the school, but there is not much about his life afterwards. It is as if the community here does not wish to remember that part of his life."

Edis crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, observing her carefully. His light brown eyes were narrowed, a small frown on his forehead. "He was one of the founders of Hogwarts. He left the school in conflict with the other professors. Luna Lovegood told me of a strange cavern beneath the castle, holding a Basilisk – a Basilisk, of all things! – for centuries until it was opened twice within the last five decades and the monster attacked students from non-magical parentage. And you are saying that there is very little information about him?"

Soundlessly, a third shadow emerged from around a corner of the endless shelves of books, and raised one dark hand. "It's only I," Neriman said, her green eyes also questioning Layla. "Did you find something?" Her voice was direct. It had lost the purring softness.

The other girl glared at her. "No. As I was saying to Edis, there is little written down about Slytherin and his life after he left Hogwarts."

Neriman lifted a brow. "But … it _was_ he who-"

Edis cleared his throat. "I do think we have no other choice than to look once again at the Papyrus the Muggles brought to London, the writings Ramses IV ordered about the death of his father and the trial and-"

"Last time we were nearly caught by their miserable alarm system," Neriman interrupted. "It was a miracle that the Muggles didn't capture us – and I don't want to have to try and explain to Akay, McGonagall and the British Minister what we were doing in a Muggle museum when we should be in Hogwarts, _especially_ at night."

Frowning, Edis touched her arm. "Time is running short, Neriman. There are only a few more months until that day, but besides finding out what happened after the trial we also have to find the hideout of that damned thief. We have to make sure-"

"I'll do it!"

Edis and Neriman turned toward their fellow. Layla smiled smugly. "I still have a trick or two up my sleeve for the vaulted building with the artefacts that the Muggles stole from our country. I'll get the papyrus, and then we'll find the answers we need in it. We will also get the information about Slytherin's home." She snorted. "We four are a special part of Slughorn's little club. He has been the Head of Slytherin for quite some time now, even with the break of several years, and he has a great store of knowledge about the school and its background. We must pretend to be curious about _all_ of the founders of Hogwarts and ask questions about them – so as not to arouse suspicions."

"That might work," Edis murmured, nodding slowly.

Layla winked at him. "It will work. Trust me. We will find Penhuibin's Ba, and do what is necessary."

Edis stiffened, looking at her, "You _do _mean, destroy it before the time of his return?"

Layla's expression changed to surprise. "Of course. What did you think I meant?"

The Egyptian young man shrugged. "Nothing, Layla, nothing special. I was only remembering your fascination with him."

Spreading her hands, palms up, the girl replied, "Of course I find him fascinating! Becoming so proficient in magic at his age is most unusual. And establishing of one of the most ancient associations of wizards in the orient, active even today, makes him all the more fascinating. But I'm certainly _not_ fascinated enough to work for someone's return who worships dark magic above all, who is so power hungry and desperate to prove himself that he mocked the gods and killed a king! With the spells he devised, now refined and more fully developed since his time, combined with his innate power, he would rule this world in no time. Even the one our hosts call called the 'Dark Lord' would pale in comparison to him. Our world has no need of yet another psychopathic murderer."

Neriman watched her closely, her green eyes seemed to glow. "Well spoken, Layla. Just think about it, when we find the blade he used to save his Ba."

Both females watched each other for a long moment before Layla smiled: "And just think about it – we are only here for one year. Don't get too cosy with the Gryffindors. After all, we all know how _sensible_ you can get."

A low snarl escaped Neriman, her eyes narrowed into slits.

"Ladies!" Edis interrupted, touching their shoulders. "Please, none of your usual bickering. It's been so peaceful between you both since you've been forced to behave yourselves here in this foreign country. Don't start at each other again."

Layla glared up at him, pushing his hand away. "Of all of us, certainly _you _are able to enjoy your 'rest in peace,' Edis. _He_ allows you rest. You are never tormented by his presence. Neriman here has the more difficult familiar, always being wary, compelled to patrol the hallways."

Again the other girl snarled. "When did you have your last warm _bath_ for Sobek, Layla?" she snapped. "I am sure _he _is uncomfortable, being so cold and dry."

Edis sighed. "Girls, enough. By the way, where _is _Abdel?"

"Did you actually let him out of your sight for once?" Layla mocked, and returned a saccharin sweet smile to Neriman's fierce gaze.

"Abdel celebrates with his house," she retorted. "By the way, why aren't you with _your_ house? They certainly need your comforting words after losing the match." She turned away, but glanced back with a falsely apologetic expression. "Oh, so sorry, I forgot. The students of Sobek do not know _how _to comfort."

Layla lifted a brow and taunted: "For that we have you and your fellow kittycats."

Edis rolled his eyes, pulling Neriman after him as he rose. "That's it. I'm out of here. And you need to come too, Neri, before Madame Pince finds blood on the floor when she closes the library." Despite Neriman's resistance, he dragged her with him and released her only as they reached the hallway outside the library. "Why does it bother you, what she says?" he asked her quietly. "She only wants to annoy you – and is succeeding."

"She has no right to-" Neriman started, but caught herself and took a deep breath. "Little beast, I don't trust her."

"And she says the same about you – and certainly about Abdel and me, as well." He raised his hand to push her hair off her face. "Deep calming breath, Neri. We will end what others have begun. We will prevent this creature from rising again, but we will not succeed if we do not work together."

Lowering her head, Neriman nodded. "I know. Still … Where are those who want his return? Where are his fellows? Why haven't we met a single one of them? I don't like this, Edis. I don't like this at all." Sighing, she looked down the corridor, now bathed in twilight. And not even her fine senses nor his incredible olfactory ability warned them of the silent witness, watching them with flaming eyes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The evening wore on and the darkness of the night fell over the tall intricate castle. Hermione put her book away and flicked her wand, dousing the lantern on her nightstand. The clock showed her it was past midnight and, yawning, she slid down under the blankets, smiling as she heard Crookshanks stretching, a furry ball at her side. Her mind beginning to drift, she recalled the day's events, especially the Quidditch game. Heavens, what a match! Rarely the mood had been wilder – not least because of Draco's legendary game-ender. What had suddenly gotten into him? He, so careful to avoid injury or pain, changed virtually overnight into a dark kind of hero, fighting danger, protecting others – including her, his personal 'doormat' – even risking his neck to win a stupid Quidditch match.

There were two possibilities: the war really did change him, made him a man, or he was somehow being forced to act atypically. But how could he be forced? She doubted that he was under an _Imperius_-curse. But cowardice was not normally reversed in a matter of a few weeks, unless he underwent some kind of shock.

Shock …

Ron certainly got one as she fought to help her partner. He was oddly quiet the whole afternoon, watching her closely, while Harry and Ginny seemed unaware. Hermione knew how much Ron despised Malfoy, that it was hard for him to even accept that the Slytherin had saved her in the Forbidden Forest. On the other hand, it exasperated her that her boyfriend behaved as if she'd committed a crime. His glares had been very annoying, even taking into account that his parents were still hiding and in danger. But she couldn't see how this would excuse him for being blinded by an old hatred.

Couldn't he see that there was that very significant difference between mockery and a true threat? Couldn't he accept that the war was over and that the Malfoys had been exonerated – even if there was a certain population who would have loved to see Lucius Malfoy back in Azkaban? Couldn't he understand that it had been those very beliefs, those prejudices, rooted deeply in family histories and in the rivalry between the school houses that virtually handed Voldemort the opportunity he needed to carry out his evil intentions? And all of those opportunities were the keys to those tragedies of the first and the second wizarding wars?

She herself still vividly remembered the multitude of offenses by Draco Malfoy and his Slytherin fellows. The six years of bullying hadn't been without influence, but to ignore another student who was in real danger would never occur to her. No one in that house, now attending school, had ever hunted her nor others like her, nor tried to kill her. Therefore they were NOT 'enemies.' Major irritants, emphatically yes. But being subjected to a tongue-lashing because she saved one from injury was infuriating. Ronald Weasley had much to learn, but she understood it was hard for him. He was hot-tempered and stubborn, hoping for some sort of payback – something Hermione could never bring herself to do. She hoped Ron wasn't around when she repaid Draco the life-debt.

Crookshanks shoved his head under her arm, and she sighed, as he curled up closer to her. "I know, Crooks, I shouldn't worry so much," she whispered, stroking his back; amazed by the insight of the half-Kneazle. "But who would have thought that I would have to defend myself to Ron because I had to help that whelp? Malfoy always turned things upside down, but this certainly is a new wrinkle."

Something clattered down in the common room, followed by a rumble. Then she heard one of the heavy tables scraping across the floor, accompanied by an exclamation that turned into a giggle, then a loud thump. Hermione sat up in bed, eyes wide. What in the world…?

Several more loud noises indicated that someone was having trouble navigating around the common room furniture. Having a fairly good idea who, Hermione took her wand, slipped into her robe and out of her room, going barefoot down the stairs to the common room. The fire had burned low, and the glowing coals gave enough light to see the tall figure clearly. Still clad in his Quidditch clothes Draco was steadying his swaying figure, clinging to the Gryffindor sofa, blinking slowly. He turned his head toward her.

"Malfoy?" Hermione asked tentatively, taking in his appearance.

He grinned sloppily and took a faltering step towards her, his face brightening. "There shhhhe is, my lilll guardian anzhel…" He mumbled, still holding tightly to the back of the sofa.

Her eyes grew wide, taking in his tousled appearance, his clothes in disarray, and his blundering movements, so different from normal. "You're drunk!"

He swayed precariously, then chuckled. "Yep!" he confirmed, grinning widely. His glassy eyes were fixed on her and suddenly took a step towards her. Or rather, he wanted to, but lost balance the moment he let go of the furniture. Guffawing, he grabbed it again, eyes locked on the most beautiful thing he ever saw. There was an unconscious knowledge that here, with her, he was _safe. _There was only the girl, her sweet face, her large eyes and those lips he so wanted to taste again. Struggling with his disobedient limbs, he beckoned her with his index finger, willing her closer to him. "C'm 'ere, ssssweet thing."

When she didn't move, he again started toward her, and Hermione was obliged to keep him from tasting the floor. "How much did you drink?" she asked, catching him and struggling to keep him upright, and gasped as he wrapped both arms around her shoulders and buried his face in the crook of her neck with a satisfied sigh. His full weight rested on her now, making her knees buckle.

"Not enufffff …" he mumbled, rubbing his face into her hair, inhaling her fragrance. "Neeeverrr enuffff …" he repeated, clearly meaning something else.

For a long moment Hermione stood, blushing, once again in the embrace of her foe. Then she heard him chuckling, hiccupping and purring in one breath, thinking he was too drunk to do any harm. But, as she felt a second later, not drunk enough to ignore a very evident opportunity, because his arms pulled her closer, and his lips moved against her skin, whispering things she couldn't understand. The movement sent shivers down her spine and heat through her body – unwelcome! Scandalous! The thick leather pads covering his forearms dug into her back, and his uniform cape fell over her, tickling her ankle. He smelled of food and alcohol, his cologne and sweat. It should have repulsed her, but quite unwillingly, she found it … alluring.

She tried to right him, but to no avail. He lost his balance, and, groaning, she realized that if she let go of him now, he'd spend the night on the cold stone floor.

"Malfoy, get a grip and… _and not on me_!" she squeaked, as he pulled her even closer to him, nipping at her neck. "Stop it, right now, or I swear to God I'll let you drop!" she demanded; feeling her face burning. _Merlin, how could he be making her knees go weak in his vile condition? Was it just because he was so close?_ …

"Warned me, my fiercessssst lill' Gryfffff'ndor…," he murmured into her neck. She hardly understood the slurred speech. "Ssstunned th' baaaad Malcummmm. Alwaysssso brave…"

Hermione gritted her teeth, closed her eyes, counted to ten, gathering her patience. He certainly couldn't be held responsible for what he was doing and saying. He'd probably never remember it. "All right, tiger, that's it. To bed with you and… this is no laughing matter!" she snapped, her patience wearing thin. He didn't answer, but sighed in what sounded like contentment. She grimaced. _Hells bells, serve him right to sleep on the floor!_ She shouldn't care if he drank himself into a stupor, but, Heaven help her, she did.

Putting on the metaphorical cloak of responsibility as Head-Girl, she shoved him upright, pulled an arm over her shoulder, and wrapped hers around his waist, willing them both not to tip. "Okay, hero of the game, here we go!" she said firmly started toward the stair, almost losing balance as he staggered along beside her.

Draco had an uncomfortable feeling of movement, but remained calm as he realized who was moving him. It was all right that it was _her, _wasn't it? "Where we goin'?" he mumbled.

"To bed!" Hermione answered. He promptly giggled. She glared at him. "And don't get the wrong idea!"

She struggled all the way to his door, literally dragging him up the few stairs. Sir Mael looked down his nose at them. "Password?" he demanded, glaring at the girl.

"I don't know the password, but if you don't want him to sleep on the floor in front of you, snoring loudly, of course, you'd better open the door."

The portrait lifted a brow. "As if _I_ would allow a _Gryffindor_ entrance into a Slytherin's domain. Take your disgusting little party elsewhere-"

He stopped, cross-eyed, looking at the wand in his painted face. "Has the Fat Lady ever told you how it feels to have one's canvas _ripped to shreds?_" she threatened and the wizard gaped. "I'll count to three, and either you'll open that bloody hole in the wall, or you can go and find another frame to live in!" she snarled, as Draco chose this moment to lean all of his weight against her, and almost sending her to the floor, muttering about how 'ssssweet' she looked when angry.

"Insolent, rude little minx!" Sir Mael snorted and swung open. Hermione, still fighting with Malfoy's weight, set her mouth and started forward. Half shoving, half dragging, she forced the Head-Boy over the threshold and, lifting her wand, lit the candles with one swift movement. For a moment, she stared about the room she'd just entered.

She'd never been in Slytherin territory before. She'd heard Harry and Ron's description of the common room, of course, below the Black Lake in the dungeons, but they weren't very keen on details. They'd been concentrating on squeezing some information out of Malfoy and acting like Crabb and Goyle. She'd therefore had a vague idea, but she never thought it would look anything like this.

The furniture was heavy, dark, stained nearly black, presenting the gothic style of the late Middle Ages. Round arches decorated the pale walls, heavy green velvet curtains covered the windows. Two candelabras and a chandelier, all made of black wrought iron, provided light for the room. There was a separate desk, with several books, rolls of parchment and sheets of paper neatly arranged on it; a comfortable chair with a high, carved back rest stood in front of it. A wardrobe and a chest, as well as a huge four-poster bed, completed the ensemble. The green/silver silk curtains around the bed were tied back, inviting the sleeper into its blankets and pillows. Three thick carpets circled the bed, and a large area rug covered the rest of the room.

Hermione blinked in surprise. The whole atmosphere was comfortable, practically cosy, in a manly, dangerous sort of atmosphere. It certainly fit the young man beside her. "You do have style, Malfoy," she remarked.

He answered her with a hiccup.

Shaking her head, the Head-Girl pulled him over to the bed, where he slumped down in a sitting position, still swaying. "Can you manage it alone?" Hermione asked, hoping for a snide comment, but all she got was a lost puppy look from his bloodshot silver eyes, while his right hand suddenly curled around her waist. She frowned and slapped it away, eyeing him warily. "Really, Malfoy, if you can't control your alcohol, you maybe should pour less into yourself."

Draco didn't answer, didn't feel the need to, because having her nearby was all he needed in the condition he was in. His dreamy smile gave him away. He delighted in the moment, so close to her. If his arms hadn't felt so heavy, he would have pulled her down to him.

"Cat got your tongue?" Hermione sighed, as he sat mooning at her, wishing she weren't involved, but disarmed by his innocent expression, looking for her help in his helplessness. Her head dropped back as she threw an exasperated glare at the ceiling. "Why me?" she sighed. "Why always me – first for Ron, and now for the Ferret?" He giggled again, and Hermione knelt down by the bed, angry and frustrated. "If you ever – EVER! – tell ANYBODY about this, Draco Malfoy, I swear I will hex you into a long and painful oblivion!" she snapped, reaching for his boots, loosening them, then pulling them off. Then she unlaced his arm pads, hurling the items away, then she opened the clasp of his cape, shoving it from his shoulders.

'_Oh, murder! I'm UNDRESSING Draco Malfoy!'_ her mind reeled as she pulled the tunic over his head. _'If Ron hears of it, I'm dead! And he doesn't even have the decency to look abashed. Grinning at me like the fool he really is and-' _"Get your hands off me, Malfoy! I won't tell you again!" she growled, as he bent forward, wrapping his arms around her as the tunic came off.

He rubbed his face in her belly, "Mmmmm!."

Instantly her cheeks heated up again. Her face took on an expression of alarm. "Malfoy!" she barked, and tried to push him away. "Let me go!"

A shake of his head was the answer. Draco savoured her warmth, her softness, and listened to her heartbeat. He couldn't let her go now – never! "Nnnnnope! Nnnnot gonna do it!"

Hermione's eyebrows went further north. "And what does that mean?" She tried again to push him off her, but even holding her gently, his arms were like steel. Where was her wand? Lying beside his boots, out of reach. Ugh … typical! Turning her attention back to him, she tried to pry his arms off again, but failed. "Let go of me! Lie down! You'll suffer enough tomorrow _without me cursing you_ _right now!_" she told him.

So he lay down – still holding on to her. A moment later she found herself tumbling on top of him, his arms still firmly around her. For a moment, she was at a loss, trying to understand what had just happened. Then he pulled her down next to him, pressed her close, tucked his feet up and buried his face in the mass of her curls.

_This ... this ... is not happening!_ There was no way she could be on the bed with… with that brat! Trying to bring both her arms between him and her to shove him off, she started to struggle, but learned yet again that he was far more stronger than she. "Get off me, you stupid git!" she snarled, and stared up to him, as he laughed drunkenly, holding her even more close.

"Minnnne!" he breathed and Hermione went rigid.

"Don't think so!" she hissed. "Since you…" The words caught in her throat as his lips were moving against her forehead while he shifted into a more comfortable position. "Mmmy wild sssssoffft lionesssss," came the murmured reply, then he sighed deeply.

"What happened to 'filthy Mudblood'?" she snapped. How dared he put her in such a position, then call her PET NAMES!

"Right. But MY li'l' Mmmudblud! Only mine!"

Draco was most of the way to Morpheus' land, but that so-familiar voice reached him. Nothing got through the fog except the feeling of this slender body against his; he craved her softness and warmth like a starving man craves food. Smelling her, feeling her, was enough to chase away the demons of the past that lurked in his shadowing corners, always waiting to haunt him. Her proximity gave rest to his injured soul, and that was all he wanted. His right hand buried itself in her curls and held her to him, and he sighed deeply, beginning to relax – possibly for the first time for two or three years.

Hermione knew what this meant. "DRACO! You will not fall asleep now!" She slapped him on the arm and shook his shoulder. "Malfoy, wake up!" she demanded, and groaned as he huddled even closer, enveloping her possessively, slipping one long leg over hers, effectively pinning them together on the mattress. "All mine!" was the last thing he mumbled, before he lay still, breathing deeply. Looking up at the face that was far too close, his alcohol breath on her, she saw his peaceful features, mingled with a truly happy smile – like a child cuddling his favourite toy.

"I can't believe this!" she said aloud, aghast. She couldn't reach her wand, she couldn't escape his embrace, for it was far too snug, and she couldn't move more than one arm, because the other one was trapped between her and him. There was no way to escape the situation in the moment. Mindboggling!

She couldn't move, so she thought. What had gotten into him? They were learning to tolerate each other, but would certainly be yelling at each other again sooner or later. And now he comes back, drunk, smoochy, calling her pet names and holding onto her like his life depended on it. And there he was, asleep with her in his arms, like an enthralled child.

_...in vino veritas ..._

The old phrase floated out of her memory, 'in wine comes truth.' Or, a person in his cups spoke what was truly on his mind. Or in his heart.

She pushed the thought away. _No, not true! He was just drunk. Tomorrow he would be back to his old irritating self, breathing fire and muttering threats when he found her in his bed. _

Lost in her angry thoughts, the next half hour passed. She grew chilly wearing only her thin robe and nightgown, with no blanket, as she and 'the Ferret' were lying on top of the bed. She slid closer for the warmth of his body and managed to put her bare feet under his. The alcohol smell was annoying, but the soft steady rhythm of his breathing and the gentle beat of his heart were tranquilizing. The candles burned low, and the golden light finally became twilight, and then darkness. Her fatigue, and her inability to change her present situation, lulled her to the point of not caring anymore that she lay in the embrace of her historical enemy.

TBC…

_Well, there will someone suffer of the mother of all hangovers the next day – and there will be a cute and funny scene between the two concerning this sleeping-arrangement that will begin to change a lot between them. But just as the two Head-Students and the others think the days are peaceful, new danger is coming in form of Lestrange and the others, making a plan to take revenge on those, who betrayed the Dark Lord and brought him to fall._

_So the next chapter will be funny, sweet but also becomes suspenseful – the begin of a lot of action and risky situations for our heroes._

_And now I wish you a nice weekend,_

_Please, __please__ leave some reviews,_

_And for all who have the chance to watch the new Harry-Potter-movie within the next week: have fun (I have to wait two more weeks, before I'll have the possibility to go to the cinema, sigh)._

_Love you all,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	19. Danger Approaches

_Hallo, my dear Readers,_

_I am so sorry that the next chapter comes with delay, but the last two weeks were very busy and my dear friend, who beta-reads the parts, didn't find any free minute to have a closer look at the new chappi. Well, it's almost Advent and therefore more work is to do than usual, so I do hope you aren't disappointed that the story only now continues._

_I want to say thank you to you all. More than 200 readers are fallowing my story on regular basis and I am happy that you're enjoying this fic so much. I also absolutely glad that I got six reviews for the last part. _

_Shahnaz: Thanks for your comment. You're half-Egypt? I do hope I convey the old myths and religion of your country correctly. I found so many connections between the ancient gods, I couldn't resist to use it as parallels for other things. And, believe me, the suspense concerning them will grow._

_CS Copenhagen: You poor one. Hermione had luck that she didn't suffer a certain need – laugh. Well, the wakening for both and their first meeting will be cute, I hope you're going to like it._

_Coeur de l'amour, Imbyrri, Crazy Army, CS Copenhagen : Thank you so very much for your reviews. Some of you are leaving comments regularly and I am so, so happy about them._

_Now, at last, we're coming to the next part. I'll think you will love it. It's more about our Head-couple and Draco is going to realize that he changes in many ways – especially concerning a certain bushy-haired Gryffindor._

_Have fun,_

_Love you all,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 18 – Danger Approaches**

Sunlight, filtered through the half closed curtains, cast a gentle green glow about the room, much like the light from the lake in the Slytherin common room. Dust particles danced in the slanting rays.

Hermione blinked and yawned, feeling partly chilled, partly warmed. Opening sleepy eyes to the green curtains, she tried to sort out what seemed so unfamiliar, until the fog began to clear. Hers were a warm burgundy, these were … _green_! The windows were on the wrong side, on the right and not on the left. Furthermore, her desk was too dark and the chair was different.

Conclusion: she wasn't in her room.

And the pillow where her head rested was moving softly up and down, a gentle beat beneath her ear. Which meant ... she was not alone …

_What_?

She lifted carefully her head and looked quickly about. The décor practically screamed 'Slytherin' and, as she dared a glance at her companion, the pointed face and pale hair, she nearly screamed in alarm herself, But then she, of course, remembered what happened the evening before. Slytherin had won the match because of the life-threatening stunt of this idiot beside her. He had celebrated with his fellows until well after midnight, returning to their dormitory – sloppy, stumbling drunk. She again followed the compassion in her far too big heart, assisted him to his room, threatened his doorkeeper, even helped him take off his cape, tunic and boots. It was then he got hold of her in his damnably strong arms and wouldn't let go. He then collapsed onto the bed with her, pinned her to him with one leg and fell asleep, holding her like a teddy bear. She could see she had slept through the night in his embrace.

A cool autumn breeze came through the half open window. She could have sworn it was closed last night. Furthermore, she noticed that his cape was neatly folded over his desk chair, as was his tunic. She certainly hadn't put it there!

Movement caught her eye, and she saw the tops of Malfoy's boots moving towards the desk. Hermione instantly knew why. Trying not to wake him, she untangled her arms – she had embraced _Malfoy_ during sleep? Mercy! – and sat up. And there it was, a tiny creature with long pointed ears and oversized eyes looked startled up, shrinking visibly because it was caught doing its job.

Hermione smiled at the little house-elf, whispering, "Good morning."

The helpful tiny creature gulped, then curtsied deeply and peeped in a hushed voice: "Good morning, Miss. Peachy apologizes for waking miss."

Shaking her head, Hermione murmured: "I'm grateful you woke me, Peachy. I have to get out of here before he" she jerked her head at the snoring young man "regains consciousness."

She froze as Malfoy shifted, sniffed, grumbled, then fell silent again. Sighing with relief, she winked at Peachy and lifted one finger to her lips. "Please tell NO ONE I was here overnight. It certainly wasn't my idea, but this fool here wouldn't let me go." She gestured with her head towards Draco, who slept like the proverbial baby.

The house elf, aware that this girl was probably the biggest friend of her whole species, nodded at her wide-eyed. "You ..." she said almost breathlessly, "you are Miss Granger! Dobby and Kreacher have told us much about you!" As the human girl winked at her again, mouthing the words _I'm not here! _Peachy felt bold enough to mirror the gesture, beaming at the Head-Girl before she put the boots by the desk, then vanished through the half open door, whispering: "Have a very fine day, fair Miss!"

Hermione watched her leave, her expression sympathetic. Ever since she'd learned of them, her heart had gone out to those small creatures, and was grateful that the house-elves were treated so kindly here at Hogwarts. But in most households they were seen as slaves or animated, disposable tools, and so her resolve to do anything in her power to better the lives of the house-elves was confirmed yet again.

A long sigh behind her reminded her where she was, and she took the opportunity to disentangle herself from her "host," and started to slide to the other side of the large bed. A long arm shot out and dragged her back. The squeak died in her throat, as she was pulled against the tall Slytherin, who mumbled incoherently. She was again wrapped in his warm embrace, which felt welcome in the cool morning, and the young man buried his face in her curls, sighed contentedly and returned to a deep sleep.

"Malfoy, let me go!" she hissed, struggling against him, but not very enthusiastically. The chill in the air was making her shiver. Her feet were already cold and her thin pyjamas and robe were no help. Finally resigning herself to her current position, after some shifting and pulling, she managed to get the large comforter over them both. If it was her fate to remain until he came around, then, by God, she could at least be _warm_!

Better! Definitely better now. Still shivering, she snuggled closer to him, switching off the part of her psyche that howled in protest. Promptly Draco sighed happily, mumbled something that sounded like 'sweet girl' and lay still. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't you dare lay the blame for any of this on me, Malfoy!" she whispered. She looked over at him. He looked so … peaceful. The early morning lit up his aristocratic features, no longer frowning or worried. He looked innocent, like a child, nearly smiling in his sleep.

Something inside Hermione melted, and for a long forbidden moment she felt oddly safe and secure in his arms, their bodies fitting together as if designed for each other. The situation was surreal, but she didn't hate it … much. Enjoying his sneer-free expression, her mind drifted, and she was soon asleep again.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

It was far too bright in the room. There was an unpleasant taste in his mouth and his limbs weighed tons. The next thing he was aware of was a headache the size of Hogwarts Castle.

And he was cold.

He slid his eyelids open and instantly shut them against the morning light. He wanted to move but noticed two more things: his whole body ached, and the room was going in circles.

"What in blazes …" he whispered, attempting to move, but the pain in his back and the quease in his stomach put a stop to that. Murder and mayhem, what _happened_ to him? Um, yes, he had celebrated in the common room, yes, and he caught the Golden Snitch … by throwing himself from his broom, capturing the winged ball and crashing into the rows of Ravenclaw. Well, that explained some of it. And the headache and sick feeling were part of certainly the biggest hangover he ever had, and he had suffered through four or five within the last years. He winced as he remembered one long evening, keeping his father company while their home had been occupied by Voldemort and his foul underlings, and the liquor had flowed freely that night ...

Ohhhhhhh he couldn't remember very much about last night. There was a big jagged black hole were his memories used to be. He couldn't even remember how he got back to his room and onto his bed. Grimacing he glanced down at himself and sighed, seeing he was still clad in his uniform, sans boots, arm pads, cape and tunic. He rubbed his face. _Bloody Firewhisky!_

Propping himself up on his elbows and moaning, he felt his spine pop in three places. He glanced at his watch and frowned - it was nearly midday. Well, after such a celebration that was normal. He wasn't really awake at all, but he was thirsty, had to use the bathroom, and needed a pain killing potion. Grumbling some well-chosen oaths, he rolled to the edge of the bed, looking at the carpet, as if it held all the answers he needed, feeling his head throb.

Grimacing and groaning he stood up and remained there for a whole minute, until the room stopped spinning. His head ached worse, and he was cold. Well, considering the windows were open, that was to be expected. At least he'd taken off his outer clothes before he slipped under the blanket and passed out. Rubbing his nose his eyes fell on the pillow, something lying on it he took to observe it – it was a long hair, brunette and curled…

Curled?

He knew instantly to whom this hair belonged. But how -? She had been here! In his room, possibly even beside him! She, his little saviour, if Patrick were correct. At this thought, he momentarily sobered. He rose to his feet, squinting against the light, and walked stiffly toward the door, hurling it open. Sir Mael leaped to his feet in the portrait, obviously startled.

"What?" Malfoy snapped, but before the portrait could answer, he heard movement down in the common-room. Not waiting for Sir Mael's response, he descended and was met by an even brighter light, more cool air, and his Head-partner, clad in an outdoor jacket and a pair of those stupid blue Muggle trousers they called 'jeans', preparing to leave the dorm, but she stopped as he approached.

"Good morning," Hermione greeted, grinning to herself at his dishevelled appearance. His hair stood out in every direction and a tiny part of her thought he looked rather cute like this… But he was looking at her with bloodshot eyes. _'__He must certainly have a royal hangover._ _Serves him right,'_ she said to herself. Aloud, she added, "Or should I say instead, good day?" She was enjoying the look on his face of disbelief. It made him so … human, this morning look.

He blinked – grovelling grindylows, was it bright here! – and cleared his throat, still squinting. "G'morning," he mumbled. Then he remembered why he had left his comfortable bed, and confronted her, holding the vagrant hair in front of her curious eyes, now twinkling in the sunlight.

"What is this?" he asked and the girl cocked her head, obviously not taking him seriously.

"An interesting and difficult question, Malfoy, but certainly one that I will venture to answer. I personally think ... it's a hair! What do _you_ think?" she asked with a smirk, and he rolled his eyes. Oh, those morning moods!

"Yes, a hair!" he grumbled, while his glance wandered to her head. "Pray tell how this curved wire came to be on MY pillow?"

Hermione's face took on a tolerantly amused expression. "Don't you ever lose a hair on your pillow?"

"It's _brown_ and it's _curly_." He pointed at her head. "How did _your_ hair get on _my_ pillow?"

Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and decided to get some payback. "Don't you remember, Honey?" she asked sweetly, and his mouth fell open. Her fingertips lightly danced over his cheek, and she whispered petulantly, "And _you_ said I was the best you ever had!"

His pale complexion whitened, and he looked at her with horror in his grey eyes.

Closing the distance, Hermione slipped an arm around his waist, realizing once again how tall he was, how toned his body was. For a moment the thought flashed across her mind that she was playing with a fire she wasn't ready for, but she was having too much fun. It was unusual to catch Draco Malfoy so off-balance. She smiled: "Come on, my fiery dragon, I know that you drank a little bit more than usual, but that didn't stop you from following through on your impulses." The look on his face was priceless, and encouraged by it, she winked at him, continuing huskily, "Tsk, tsk_, in vino veritas_, as they say. Who would have thought that you didn't loath me, you just didn't know how to get me into your bed for some passionate, wild, incredible lovemaking?"

A sound escaped him, something between a squeak and a cough, while he staggered back a couple of steps, eyes like saucers, mouth hung open. Panicking, he glanced from the hair between his fingers to her and back, speechless yet again, then dropped it as if it burned him. Not possible! Yes, he wanted her – some sick, twisted, completely insane part of him wanted to take her, to get her out of his system, but that he could have done it last night ... would have had her in his bed, he would surely remem …

That insolent amused look on her face ...

Then it hit him. "Why am I still in uniform?" he asked, a frown appearing between his brows as his common sense kicked in.

"Oh, after you won the match for your house yesterday?" she responded. He paled even more, his fuzzy mind unable to take any more and she couldn't bear it any longer. She burst out laughing. "That look! Oh please, someone take a picture! Priceless!"

"Granger!" he growled dangerously, groping for control as he began to realize that he had just been the butt of a joke. "If you are making fun of me, I swear-"

"No worries, Malfoy. You came in last night, drunk as the proverbial skunk. I helped you upstairs to your room where you suddenly mistook me for a cuddly toy and clung to me until we both fell asleep. That's all," she giggled, seeing the mixture of comprehension and relief washing over his face.

Then he stiffened: "I did WHAT?" His voice had risen the better part of an octave.

Her giggles broke loose, and she laughed so hard it hurt. Draco closed his eyes. "Please, Granger, not so loud!" he moaned, pressing his palms to his temples. "Ohhhh, my head is about to explode!"

"Serves you right! When you drink yourself into a stupor, your body _and_ your past will get their revenge," she smirked.

"Ugh, Granger, you sound like a mother hen! I know I was potted last evening, but where do you come into this?" He pointed a finger at her. "And don't come at me with that rubbish about passionate lovemaking. _That_ I would remember!"

Eyeing him with a good-natured smirk, Hermione decided that she didn't want to know what he meant by that, and explained the evening's events in slow, small words his painful head would understand: "You came after midnight, knocking over the furniture, I took pity on you," here he winced, "and took you up the stairs, then pulled off your outer clothes. And in return, you pulled me onto the bed with you and wouldn't let me leave. I was forced to stay the whole night with you, _on_ the blanket, and freezing. I only escaped late this the morning, after you finally shifted. I even pulled a blanket over you before I left, and missed breakfast."

Draco had to sort out what his Head partner explained in her rush, and shifted, clearly uncomfortable. "You… you brought me…?" The image she presented was ... beyond humiliation! And he _held_ her all night? Well, that wasn't so bad and…

'_What_? Not so _bad_? _Please someone Avada me!'_ If this went public, he was dead.

"I escorted you to bed, yes!" she confirmed his worst fears, grinning at his white face. "We should keep this a secret. I already have a hard enough time explaining you to my friends. I really don't need any more suspicious comments from Ron." She cocked her head. "And Slytherin house would NEVER recover from you sleeping with the Head-Mudblood!"

Draco felt unwell. Actually, he was sick to his stomach. Nausea was coming with regularity, accompanied by someone pounding an anvil in his head. But her words had connected and taking a deep breath (flipping his stomach over) he murmured: "Don't call yourself that."

He was looking at the opposite wall, sorting out his thoughts, and so missed her look of surprise. (He'd actually skipped the opportunity to berate her!)

Draco sighed and rubbed his face, as the events of the yesterday's Quidditch match eased back into his memory. Bludgers … He frowned. "Graham said the Bludgers stopped chasing me after you stunned Baddock." She blushed. "What exactly happened?"

Hermione gulped. "What do you remember?"

He snorted: "I have a hangover, not amnesia. I don't want to hear your dirty little fantasies."

"_What_?" she squealed. "I would never-"

He continued, ignoring her interruption. "You screamed at me, and I escaped a Bludger's attack. Then you warned me again and it was all I could do to outrun them. Then they suddenly withdrew. There was a timeout." He smiled, a broad, proud smile, bringing colour into his face. "And then I caught the Snitch!"

"Yeh, and almost broke your neck doing it," she growled, still pondering his words concerning 'dirty little fantasies'. "Merlin's beard, Malfoy, I thought you'd killed yourself…" Her mouth snapped shut, and her blush deepened. His baffled gaze became a knowing smirk.

"You thought I'd _killed _myself? Were you afraid _for_ me, little Gryffindor?" Even with the hangover, the amused grin said that he liked what he heard – a lot. He bent forward, her blush rose to the roots of her hair. She opened her mouth and closed it without a word. "Didn't know that you cared, Granger. Interesting tale you came up with a moment ago about last night."

She stuttered something not even the most blessed genius could not have understood, and Draco's grin widened. "Always knew you wanted me. All you have to do is ask, Granger." Even he couldn't tell if he was serious, but the sudden picture of her naked in his arms reminded him he wouldn't object – if only to get her off his mind!

He chuckled as her mouth opened and shut like a fish out of water, so he changed the subject. "About the match – if Graham was right, then it was you who saved me from a long fall to the pitch, a long stay in the hospital wing, and humiliation." He reached out and twirled one of her untamed curls around his index finger, for a moment allowing himself to marvel at its softness, momentarily forgetting his headache. "In conclusion, I have a personal question: is there anything about this you should tell me, Granger?" She looked like a cornered deer, and for a moment the urge to pull her close was almost overwhelming.

Hermione found her voice again, seeing that her little joke was backfiring. She cleared her throat and forced away the unbidden image of their two figures entangled ... "No one would have allowed a fellow student to come to that kind of harm. So don't read so much into it."

He nodded. "Understandable. But being _terrified _on someone's behalf indicates a whole other level, don't you agree?" His hangover was momentarily forgotten, he was enjoying this. It was a little payback for her 'joke'. (Who would have thought that their harmless banter would ever concern forbidden desires?)

Hermione's heart lurched. "Now you're making things up, Ferret, so let's just-"

He sighed. "Don't you think that tag has run its course by now?"

Looking up at him, her mouth quirked on one side. "Now that you mention it, I suppose so. How about 'Jarvey'?" She giggled as his expression returned to irritated.

"You want to replace 'Ferret' with the name of another ferret-like creature?" he asked, remembering what he read about them in one of the school-books: 'The Jarvey resembles an overgrown ferret, and is commonly found in Britain, Ireland, and North America. The Jarvey is capable of Human speech, although true conversation with a Jarvey is impossible. The creature uses short, usually rude, statements and phrases in an almost constant stream. Jarveys live below ground, and their diet consists of moles, voles, rats, and Gnomes. Jarvey are particularly good at hunting Gnomes, and are sometimes employed to de- gnome a garden, although their methods are usually brutal.'

Eyes again full of mischief, she replied: "As you know, a Jarvey is larger than a ferret and it can talk, in a very basic sense. The first descriptor fits you perfectly, and the second practically perfectly, don't you think so?"

He blinked. Once. And again. Then groaned. "All right, 'Non-Magical Descendent', but please remember that Jarveys do hunt gnomes. And considering your size …" He reached for her.

With a squeak Hermione jumped back, eyes laughing. "Go take a headache potion, go back to bed, then get up and get something to eat," she laughed. His eyes narrowed, but the corner of his mouth was tugging upward. "See you!"

She turned toward the entrance. "Granger?"

She looked back. "Yes?"

He paused, pondering his next words, then said slowly, "Thanks ... for your help."

Those beautiful eyes shone back at him. "You're welcome." She turned around and walked toward the entrance. "And about that other thing? You're welcome for that, too."

As the portrait closed behind her, and silence returned to the common room, he felt oddly lonely. He stared after her, his mind reeling (part of the hangover?). The encounter had felt… right, somehow. No. He wouldn't think about it.

Then he remembered the information she gave him. _'So Graham had been right.' _And he'd tried to forget about it by drinking. A lot. But the rest was new to him. He scratched his smarting head, feeling gratitude toward her for saving him from possible death. But then she also saved him from a humiliating night on the floor. And one quick look at the table showed that she had even brought him a breakfast tray.

Sighing in confusion, he made his way to the bathroom, and removed the rest of his uniform. He examined all of his bruises in the mirror. He really needed a visit to the hospital wing. He only hoped that that old hag, Madam Pomfrey, would take pity on him and give him something against the pain. Maybe, if he asked her very nicely. Yes, he could do that.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

They didn't see each other for the rest of the day. That evening, Hermione returned to her dormitory early to study, long before he returned, not much improved than earlier that day. Ginny, sensing a change, asked bluntly Hermione what happened, for she was distracted that afternoon, and giggled for no reason. But this time, she didn't share anything with her best friend. She wasn't ready to be teased about yesterday's near-disaster.

And it had been disastrous, hadn't it? Forced to spend the night with her very personal pain in-the-tush had been ... should have been ... nerve-wracking. But, astonishingly, she relaxed beside him. Thinking back on the time on top of the covers, it had felt good to have his arms around her, protective, warm, to feel his breath on her cheek, his heart beating so close, spreading peace through her soul. She had been angry at first, yes, but not as angry as she should have been. She had been shocked, but she didn't hate it. She admitted that it had been pleasant to awaken in the arms of another.

When Hermione and Draco saw each other the first time again the next day, leaving the Great Hall, Draco winked at her, smiling "Morning, little Gryffindor!" This earned him a curious glance from Ginny, which he ignored.

"What was that about?" Ginny asked, and Hermione blushed. (She was doing that a lot lately.)

"Well … he's grateful for my help during the Quidditch-match." That half-truth came easily.

The redhead lifted a brow. "Hmm, he's having a, um, challenging time with his house, isn't he? I mean, a prank is one thing, but a Bludger attack isn't really fair, is it?"

"I wish your brother could see it that way," Hermione grumbled as they walked to their next class, remembering another lecture from Ron the day after the match.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

That this temporary truce would take a blow soon was signalled on Wednesday, as the Head students sat in their common room, doing homework. Neither the Gryffindor nor the Slytherin had spoken again about what happened Saturday night, even though Draco's memories returned one by one. If he wasn't mistaken, he'd called the girl a 'sweet witch' and '_his_ Mudblood' while nuzzling her neck. The mere thought of this ridiculous behaviour made him flush. Granger hadn't referred to those events, and he was grateful. He wouldn't have known how to face them.

On impulse, he offered her his help with Transfiguration, when he saw her struggling with a certain charm. McGonagall's charm required a complicated wand movement and hours of practice, to be performed by the coming weekend. Even the high skilled Hermione was becoming desperate. And he offered his help, partly out of guilt, partly out of desire to be near her. She took it gladly that evening in their common room.

Concentrating on the tip of her partner's wand, Hermione watched him moving it in complex circles as he slowly spoke the words which would change a quill into a bird that would repeat the words the quill wrote.

Suddenly a loud howling was heard from outside the half open windows.

Both froze, startled, and exchanged a nervous look. Could this be…?

Again the wailing sounded through the night and flinching, both stood up and walked to the windows, peering through them. The weather had been still sunny since Sunday and no cloud hung in the skies. The full moon bathed the landscape in a silver light, and shone down on a huddled figure, galloping near the Black Lake.

"That's the one, the werewolf that chased us," Hermione whispered, wrapping her arms around herself.

Draco pursed his lips, nodding slowly. "It seems so." His keen eyes followed the creature, before they landed on the Muggle-born witch, who had grown pale with the memory of the encounter with the evil beast. Her eyes betrayed her fear, and not knowing what possessed him, Malfoy put one hand on her small shoulder, squeezing it gently, while he met her gaze he so wanted to see without fright as soon as possible. "He is down there, Granger. He can't cross Hogwarts' protective spells and get to you, so don't be afraid." His voice was soft, almost gentle.

Hermione blinked. Was he… _comforting her_?

He seemed to realize this, too, because he pulled his hand away as if he had burnt it, and pressed his lips shut. Damn, what was happening to him over the last weeks? First she almost made him insane with fury, then he was overwhelmed with the urge to kiss her, then she attracted his attention at every possible chance, and now it even felt good to comfort her. Merlin help him, or he would soon be lost.

Silently they watched the werewolf trot away, until Hermione gasped. There was a large figure following the beast, carrying a lantern and accompanied by a smaller shadow on four legs: Hagrid and Fang.

"You have to admire the gamekeeper's courage," Malfoy mumbled beside her.

Hermione looked up at him. "This was the first time I ever heard you say anything nice about Hagrid."

He shrugged. "Truth is always truth." He stepped away from the window and touched carefully her elbow, leading her back towards the ottomans and to their homework. "Come on, there is nothing you could do. Your large friend is capable of handling the werewolf on his own."

"I know," the Head Girl sighed. "But still… It's dangerous for him, too, you know."

Draco nodded and took as seat again. "Yes, but the one who loves Hippogriffs, dragons and called an oversized spider 'a friend' should have no problem with a werewolf."

Hermione stared at him: "You know about… Aragog?"

Where had he heard this name before? He was sure that it wasn't unknown to him and… then he remembered. "Didn't you speak of full grown acromantula and its heir in the Forbidden Forest the first night of our patrol?"

Smirking a little bit, Hermione cocked one brow. "Yes, I suppose I did. How did you know about Hagrid befriended one of them?"

He gulped and snorted, not knowing if he should laugh or curse as he realized what Granger told him. "Slughorn", he answered slowly. "He told us about the funeral of an acromantula that he and Hagrid celebrated. And why should anyone bury one of those monsters and shed tears over it, if not a friend of it?" He grimaced. "That gamekeeper really is a strange one."

She saw him shivering and chuckled. "There are far worse things in those woods than centaurs, and Hagrid knows them all."

Shaking his head, Draco took his wand again. "You and Potter must have been desperate when you led Umbridge into the forest. Am I right?"

"Yes, I suppose so," she nodded.

"So it was your idea to make Umbridge believe that Dumbledore had hid some kind of weapon there and…" He stopped again, his grey eyes on her face. "I knew you were brave, but maybe you're just crazy!" A grin was tugging at his mouth.

Hermione laughed softly. "Sometimes you have to weigh the risks, but if it not for Hagrid's half brother, the centaurs would certainly have killed us for trespassing into their territory. They're really strict when it comes to that."

"Hagrid … has a half brother, here, at Hogwarts?" Draco was amazed and shocked. He knew the nature of giants was completely violent. And learning that one of them lived in the neighbourhood was troubling.

"Not here, but outside the grounds, deep in the Forbidden Forest. Grawp likes me and wanted to protect me. He sensed the wrath of the centaurs and came to our aid."

His eyes glinted with mischief. "A giant loves a Gryffindor. That so fits you, Granger."

She bobbed her head. "Thank you," she said with feigned stiffness, and giggled. He rolled his eyes and smirked. Yes, their "truce" had made life easier over the last three days. This truce would soon be put to the test.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

The difficulty of their N.E.W.T lessons had increased so that even Hermione had to struggle. The days flew. Hagrid's new pet 'was sprouting up nicely' as he put it, the cats still trotted around after Neriman whenever they could, and Gryffindor and Ravenclaw teams could be found in the field, training for the next upcoming Quidditch-match at every possible opportunity.

There had been nothing else out of the ordinary, no more news of the shadows. The werewolf's howling had not, of course, gone unnoticed by other students and they were dismayed when they learned that Hagrid had been unable to capture it. Some of them took it as a bad sign.

Draco, in the meantime, had a very different predicament, soon discovering that it was useless to fight against it. The more he thought about the night after the game, the more he remembered. To his amazement, he also remembered finally how wonderful it had been to hold the little Gryffindor-bookworm close and to breathe in her sweet scent. And he caught himself watching her – during class, in the Great Hall, in their common-room doing homework, as though his eyes were on elastic bands. He saw her biting her lip when she thought about a difficult lesson, her tendency to slip loose curls behind her ear, how she cocked her head when lost in thought or listening closely to someone, how she leaned over her parchments when writing in that small, neat script. And when their eyes met and she blushed ever so slightly, his heartbeat quickened and warmth spread through his whole being.

Oh yes, he was in deep trouble! His slowly developing desire for her was growing into a perceived need. And from there it was not far to affection and caring – and commitment – and that scared the bejesus out of him.

As the days and weeks passed, the weather changed from a pleasant 'golden October' to a windy, cold one and in the morning, the first mists crept from the lake over the hills, on which the soft lilac of the heather had vanished. The leaves had completely turned to red and gold and aubergine, and the Egyptian guests were taken with the colours of nature around them. They had seen pictures of it, to be sure, but it was a completely different to walk under these trees, examine the infinite variety of colour and pattern on the millions of leaves.

Finally Halloween approached, and therefore the trip to Hogsmeade. Hermione wrote to her mother to send her the battery for the telephone, and was eager to use it as soon as she left the castle. Harry and Ron looked forward to the trip, too, and Neriman was curious about upcoming feast, asking many questions, as did her fellow students in their host houses.

"So, in earlier times it was the last night of the old year and then the curtains thinned between the land of the living and the dead?" Neriman asked Wednesday evening, as she walked with Hermione, Ginny and Wilhelmina to the Gryffindor tower after dinner; followed by several cats, an accustomed sight by now around Hogwarts.

"Yes. Samhain was the ancient God of Death and family members who had died in the previous year were allowed to visit their bereaved one last time. To appease them, their families put food on the tables and went to bed early, hoping not to disturb the ghosts. That was the beginning of our custom of having a feast day."

"And the wearing of costumes this evening?" Neriman's green eyes shone with curiosity.

"Those who had to leave their houses during that night wore costumes to bewilder the ghosts. They wanted to make them think they were one of them, and therefore wouldn't be carried off by them into the land of the dead," Hermione explained.

"Yes, and the pumpkins are a tradition the Irish took to America, where it changed from the original sugar beet to pumpkins," Ginny continued as they climbed the staircase. "It all started with an evil man called Jack, who cheated the devil when he came to take him away. The devil wasn't happy to be fooled by a mortal, and when Jack died, heaven was closed to him, and when he went to hell, the devil refused him entrance, too. As the story goes, the devil growled: 'You didn't want my hospitality when I was about to take you in, now it's forfeit. So your soul has to walk forever in the darkness, without rest, without hope. But see, even I am not evil enough to bestow the fate of darkness on you.' He then took a glowing coal from his hellfire and threw it to Jack with the words: 'Here. May it remind you always that even I, Satan, have more of a heart than you ever had!' Then the gates of hell closed and Jack was alone in the everlasting darkness. To keep the glowing coal alive, he put it in a hollowed out sugar beet and it showed him the way through the darkness. So, every year, when Samhain leads the deceased back to visit the land of the living, Jack o'Lantern has to show him the path, but is unable to go where the living and dead can walk."

Neriman stared at her. "That's… that's horrible! For an Egyptian there is no greater punishment than to be judged at the last trial of Anubis and to be damned to walk in the world of darkness and demons. Or worse, forfeiting the chance to be reborn." She glanced down. "Only the most grim of criminals had to endure this, by burning their bodies and spreading the ashes into the wind."

"Everlasting perdition?" Hermione asked, watching her closely, and the oriental girl nodded.

"Yes, it happened several times in our history that I know of, and the judges did not give this verdict easily, but there were several times it had to be done."

Wilhelmina sighed. "Please, can we please change the subject? It's becoming quite uncomfortable."

"Fraidy cat," Ginny teased, and smiling, the girls went up the final staircase. Only Hermione tagged along behind, lost in her thoughts. She had a feeling that the information about the ancient religion could be important. She didn't know how right she was.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

But if Hermione thought that their guests might cause problems one day, it was nothing compared to the danger slowly approaching the Head-Boy and any who might be near him.

Miles away, in the south of London, the old abandoned villa in Teddington was again filled with activity, invisible to any Muggle. The brief glimpses of sunshine were gone, and the evening's chill crept through the streets. Inside of the villa, a warm open fire heated the room, but created more shadows of the covered furniture and the men and woman who met here again.

"Still no news of the ginger blood-traitors, except for the youngest at Hogwarts," Dolohov said, his expression grim, as he looked at Rabastan Lestrange.

He nodded. "They're well hidden by the Aurors. We will not be able to track them down, but perhaps we can draw them out." His attention was now directed to the tall man with the icy eyes and the foulness between his teeth. "Your 'child' is sure that the students will go to Hogsmeade on Halloween as every year? No change because of their fear of us?"

Greyback growled, his feral eyes glinting in the firelight. "Of a certainty. I talked to him yesterday. Was in a wild mood as the lunar cycle approaches. He has potential. I do think I will take him under my wing. It will not harm us to gain one more recruit."

Rabastan waved a nonchalant hand. "As you wish, then try to win him for us. But remember that he will be _your_ responsibility, Fenrir." He cocked his head, observing the werewolf and chuckled when he saw the yellow flashes in his eyes, and how his hands opened and closed; the long yellowed nails seemed sharper than usual. "Am I wrong, or is this approach of the full moon affecting you already, as well?"

Another dangerous growl escaped Greyback, the beast in him rearing up as it sensed its time approaching, when it would be free again. "It's my nature, Lestrange. Don't underestimate it."

"Do I look suicidal?" Rabastan yawned, looking bored, again demonstrating in this simple action his authority among the remaining Death Eaters. "So, in two days the students will be in Hogsmeade." He glanced at the others. "I do think, my friends, this will be the time to make our enemies pay." His gaze found Doholov. "You are assigned to find the two Weasley children. They're easy to recognize by their stupid freckled faces and red hair." He glared at McNair. "You and the others will find and corner Potter. Get him to me alive – regardless who attempts to protect him. I care not if some of the inhabitants, teachers or students stand in your way. Just _get him!_" He moved toward the fire place. "I myself will look for my 'dear' second nephew."

A touch on his arm drew his attention, and with a slight smile he looked at the woman who had eased his pain in several ways. "Venusia, my dear?" he asked and she lifted one elegant brow.

"You're certain that the Malfoy boy will be among them? He knows that we are after him and his family – and he is no idiot. He knows that only the spells around the castle protect him, and that he will be vulnerable if he leaves."

Rabastan smirked, his eyes full of loathing. "You are forgetting, my dear: the Malfoy pride. He will not remain behind while schoolmates make the trip. The arrogance in his blood tells him to. Pride was Lucius' downfall, and it will be his son's as well."

TBC…

_Oh-oh, this doesn't sound good. And will come bad, believe me. In the next chapter Hermione and Draco will get another glimpse of each others pig-head and the tempers are flaring up. Then there will be the trip to Hogsmeade, and no-ones knows that danger in form of Lestrange and his fellows are lurking in the shadows – waiting for their chance._

_We – Cheetah and I – will hurry up._

_I wish you a beautiful first Advent,_

_Please, please leave some reviews again (I am so curious what you think of the last chapter),_

_Yours Lywhn_


	20. Overheated Reactions

_Hi, my dear Readers,_

_It's Saturday and therefore the next chapter is ready. I do hope you're going to like the next part and that I captured the mood how you like it._

_Thank you so, so much for the last reviews,_

_Have fun,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 19 – Overheated Reactions**

"You're _WHAT_?"

Hermione glared at Malfoy, who rolled his eyes. "I don't know what you're fussing about, Granger. Of course I'm going to Hogsmeade, too." Really, sometimes the Muggle-born was incomprehensible.

"But… but Hogsmeade is _off the Hogwarts' grounds_!" she stammered, flushing at his look of feigned surprise.

"Really? Unbelievable, Granger, when did that happen?"

He bent toward his homework, and grimaced as the pitch of her voice went even higher: "The Death Eaters … they're still after you! They even tormented you _inside_ of Hogwarts' spells. What if ... Malfoy, what if they're waiting for you in Hogsmeade?"

He glanced at her, smirking. "I'm touched that you're so concerned about my well being, Granger, but I really am capable of watching out for myself," he said. He arranged his books and papers in his bag and stretched, ready to retire. "No classes for two days. Homework done. Lovely."

"_Grrr_… sometimes you're so… so… _unreasonable_!" she blurted, ignoring his attempt to change the subject. That well practiced smirk was so _infuriating!_

"They are after everyone responsible for Voldemort's defeat, Granger. That means you and the Weasleys, too. And Potter most of all. But I notice you're still losing your cool about me. So I'll ask you again: is there something you're hiding?" He wriggled his eyebrows one at a time (with comical results) and chuckled as she blushed. He knew she reddened when she was angry, but right now he knew it wasn't from her irritation. She had started to like him. And though that thought would have horrified him only weeks ago, he now enjoyed the concept.

"In your dreams, Malfoy!" she snapped, preparing to return to her book, and he laughed quietly, which changed his whole appearance. It made him somehow … younger, softer.

"You started this, by voicing your own secret fantasy the morning after the game, my little lion cub, so don't be surprised that I have my own thoughts about it."

Hermione rolled her eyes, ignoring the suggestion of 'secret fantasy'. _They were his fault, after all, since HE initiated the kiss after their duel!_ And there were more important matters at hand. "Look," she tried to reason with him again. "They attacked your home and your parents, they attacked you here above the lake, the Ministry has relocated entire families because of their threats, and the only thing that keeps _them_ from _you_ are the spells surrounding this castle. If you cross the border, you lose. You're vulnerable!"

He glanced at her pleading eyes. She'd truly touched him, but his decision stood. And he was NOT 'vulnerable'. "Thank you for your concern, Granger, but I'm very capable of defending myself." He winked at her, picking up his book-bag. "They won't dare to come to Hogsmeade, not with a half dozen professors there. And if you're so worried about their visit, you should stay here together with Pothead, the Weasel and the Weaslette. I dare say that they would much prefer to attack the Golden Trio than me." She frowned, and with a genial "Good night, Granger!" he turned to go, but her next words held him back; even more effectively than a stunning spell.

"You _promised_ to stay at the Castle!" she called out, cursing herself for feeling so much concern for him. _Damn life-debt_! It was the only explanation for her persistence.

Draco pulled himself to his full height before he slowly faced her again, eyes wide. "I did what?" he asked slowly and warily.

"You promised your mother you would stay in Hogwarts!" Hermione blurted, realizing that she was finally reaching some sense in him – but the wrong one.

His glare fixed her, his frown deepened. "And how would you know that?" he asked, frowning. Her eyes widened, while blood shot to her cheeks. He'd caught her! "Did you eavesdrop, Granger?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"N-n-no," she stuttered, taking a step back. Draco's book-bag dropped from his shoulder and his expression grew menacing. She hadn't seen it like that for weeks now.

"Liar!" he said darkly, and saw her wince. She really had no talent for lying. "I told no one about that! I never even hinted at what I spoke about with my mother after the raid! How do you know about it?" He advanced on her slowly, his grey eyes stormy. _How dare she! How dare she to spy on him?_

Hermione felt her limbs grow cold as he edged towards her; barely in control. She'd only seen like this once before, shortly before their duel. "I … I heard noises in the common room and went to see what it was. Then I saw you kneeling in front of the fireplace. I heard your mother begging you not to come home, but to stay at Hogwarts, where you'd be safe. And I heard you promise you would when I returned to my dorm, that's all!" she explained quickly, hand edging toward her wand, in the back pocket of her jeans.

"That's all?" he spat. "Ever heard of 'privacy', Granger?"

"How was I to know that those noises were you having a talk with your mother via the fireplace? I left as soon as I saw what was happening, but I couldn't close my ears, so don't get your knickers in a knot!" She was snarling now, angry. Creeping creatures, what was his problem? She flinched as his hands shot forward and gripped her shoulders.

"I have told you repeatedly to keep your filthy nose out of my affairs!" he shouted, his fingers digging into her flesh hard enough to leave marks. A part of him recoiled, repulsed by his own violence, another part urged him to go on. "And then I find you're sneaking around, listened to my most private confidential conversations! And and have the nerve to tell me 'that's all'? Can't I even talk with my _mother_ without having one of the Blessed Trio on my heels?"

Hermione tried to pull away, but his grip was vicelike. "I told you how and why it happened and that I left the moment I realized that it was you and your mother talking. I can't see your problem!" she shouted, anger overtaking her fear. _Faugh! And here she thought they might get along!_

"The problem is, Granger, that I think you heard far more than that. Or do you stick to that story that it was just this one exchange you heard? This particular one of all of them?" He shook her. "When else were you listening? The conversations between my father and me, McGonagall's visit?"

"I didn't…" Hermione started, but gasped as he soundlessly moved his lips. She felt a sudden pressure in her head, as if someone were looking in every corner, in every drawer of her memories. Instantly she knew what he was happening: he was invading her mind, looking for her memories of those moments he spoke with his mother. The outrage of this abuse fired her mind to action. With a wild snarl she shoved at him, clawing her fingers across his chest, and, abruptly, he let her go, the pressure gone as quickly as it had come. She stumbled backward, clinging to the maroon sofa.

His anger had gotten the better of him, casting off the affection for her that had grown over the past weeks. _How DARE she? How dare she to snoop into his private affairs? How dare she to rub his promise to his mother in his face?_

"Pay attention, Granger, and know this: If I EVER catch you spying on me again, you'll wish that you'd NEVER returned to Hogwarts, and McGonagall, Saint Potter and the Ministry be damned! I will not tolerate a _liar_!" He had learned how much she'd heard. He knew she had witnessed most of the conversation, had even remained afterwards, watching him with mixed emotions he knew were shock and compassion. She had no training in _occlumency_ and the brief moment had been enough to allow him see what he searched for.

Tears blurred Hermione's eyes, tears of hurt and betrayal. She had begun to _trust_ him, for pity's sake! "How dare you attack me like that? How dare you mess with my head!" she panted, feeling violated. "I don't know how I could worry about you at all!"

"I never asked you for it!" he retorted heatedly, ignoring the faint echo of the emotions he knew she'd felt as she learned of the abuse of his home and the attack on his parents. But as he saw the deep hurt in her tearing eyes, the part of him that had warmed toward the Muggle-born witch stirred with surprising strength. Groaning, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Listen, Granger, I do know you didn't mean any harm and that your damn female curiosity and your insane urge to 'help' dictated your actions. But you will never, _never_ again spy on me, or God help me, I will treat you like a naughty child and lay you over my knee!" For a moment he imagined the whole thing, her small backside turned up to him, her slender body wriggling along his body. And promptly his lower half began to stir.

"I didn't _spy _on you, you insolent, arrogant jackass!" she screamed, surprising him with her harsh language, but just now she didn't care. Her mind was bruised and her heart bled. Another part of her scoffed: _'Told you not to trust him!'_ She stifled a sob.

The Malfoy part of him nodded in satisfaction to have made her cry, after all she was nothing more than…

_No!_ He had put those old, destructive beliefs behind him. She was a fellow student, a real person. To put it more clearly, an intelligent, skilful, warm-hearted, beautiful young woman, who had acted out of compassion. On the other hand, he was acting out of-

"Damn it, Granger, let's stop this-" He had stretched out his hand toward her, but she slapped it away with a strength that caught him by surprise. _The little minx was strong_. He kept forgetting that fact.

"Don't you touch me!" she yelled, a tear tracing her pale cheek. "I -I -I _trusted_ you and you… you use _l__egilimency_ against me, you disgusting bastard!"

"Hermione…" he started again, realizing that he had gone too far, but she pulled away, looking at him like a trapped rabbit and a crouched lioness at the same time; not even noticing that he'd used her given name.

"I'm done with you, you, _stupid!_ _Little_! _Boy! _Too full of yourself to ever grow up! But one last thing, you snake: stay away from me! Don't come near me ever again, or I'll prove to you that I've learned a few dark spells, too, and I'm not afraid to use them on _you_!" Striding past him with a jarring slam from her shoulder to his as she passed, she moved to the stairs. A few seconds later, the door banged closed.

Malfoy stared after her, shoulders sagging. "Damn!" he whispered in the ensuing silence, sighed, and ran both hands through his hair. "Damn you, Gryffindor, why do you have to make everything so complicated?"

The image of pain on her face only moments ago was in his eyes, knowing he was the reason for it, and he felt crushed. Even worse, his heart ached at the wounded tears he saw there. He wanted to hold her, tell her that he didn't mean any of it, that everything was going to be all right, and every impulse went against the nature he always thought to be his.

By Merlin's tall star-strewn hat, she was driving him crazy. So what if she had been eavesdropping? He'd never liked it when others thought they had to watch him, but he knew now that she'd spoken the truth and only remained because of pity and shock. Groaning, he rubbed his temples as the odious conscience he'd somehow developed over the last year awoke once again, and guilt began to gnaw on his stomach. If he lost his sanity, it would be that girl's fault! She brought out feelings and thoughts he had never had before.

Sighing, he bent to pick up his book-bag, feeling suddenly the urge to take his broom for a midnight flight. It always made him feel better, flying, especially when flustered as he was now, and the walls seemed to close in on him.

Feeling suddenly like a bird caught in a cage, he walked to his own dormitory, slipped into a warm jacket, grabbed his Nimbus 2001, doused the candles with one quick flick of his wand, and opened a window. A moment later he was in the air, steering his broom over the castle grounds. The battlements and towers of the enormous stone-crafted structure lay beneath him, the small crescent of the waning moon and the starlight cast but the faintest light, but it was enough to show him where he was. The cold night wind and the dampness of the autumn soothed him, while a feeling of freedom rose up in him, driving out the new sorrow.

He was surprisingly tender and impressionable. Moaning Myrtle had been right about that, when she told Harry about the bullied and desperate boy who wasn't ashamed to cry in her presence. No one who met Draco Malfoy for the first time would ever think that this cool, arrogant air was, in truth, a mask he had learned to put on as a small child. It hid his vulnerability and protected him for some time from the 'slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,' but it came with a price that had proven too high during the last two years.

After his pampered childhood, in which his biggest challenge was trying to outdo a Muggle-born, and to rage against the to-do that was made around that Potter-boy, he had found himself in a world he that had turned upside-down. When his father failed to complete Voldemort's assigned task at the Ministry, and he, Draco himself, had been assigned to kill Dumbledore, his life had, well, fallen apart. He was expected to feel himself honoured to be made a Death Eater at such a tender age. It was after this he had been forced to witness the incredible cruelty of his father's associates, and found himself unable to do the same – beginning with murdering the headmaster, the only person who had ever offered him any real help, help he desperately wished to take. He might have done so, if his aunt and the others had not arrived to forestall his action. With Dumbledore's death, his own hope for deliverance – and the deliverance of his mother and father – had been killed, too.

That was just the beginning of the nightmare he'd lived through the following months, terrified for his family and himself, forced to witness how deep the dark abyss of a human mind could plumb, every time Death Eaters carried out their ghoulish pleasures in torture and murder.

He longed to speak of his unease, his misery, to tell someone what his heart was screaming whenever he watched them, or learned of the torture and death they brought to others. He learned, to his own pain, that his arrogance had prevented him from acquiring that very important necessity of life: a true friend. Yes, he had been friends with Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson, but instinct warned him not to spill his thoughts to either them. He couldn't trust anyone, he couldn't speak with anyone about what he felt, what he thought, and he couldn't hope for anyone to understand him ever again, as Dumbledore had up there on the Astronomy-tower. No one, except his mother and, to a certain extent, his father, would ever know how easily his emotions were stirred.

No one would ever see anything else in him than the spoiled, conceited, cruel and cowardly Pureblood, devoid of warmth or affection.

No one, but a certain bookish, meddling Muggle-born witch. Somehow Hermione Jean Granger, who had faced him with so much loathing during their ride to Hogwarts, had begun to actually_ care_ for him. And he knew that it wasn't only because he'd saved her life out there in the Forbidden Forest. That might have been the beginning, but she'd been ready to learn more about him, to fulfil her assignment given by Professor McGonagall. Additionally, her heart was too considerate, too large, too full of forgiveness to retain that loathing. She had made up her mind to give him a chance, even after their duel. The last fortnight had been pleasant – far more than he could have thought. This year, with two real enemies at his back who lacked the scruples Potter had, and having lost his 'bodyguard,' he would have had a hard time if not for Granger and her warm, intelligent spirit – and possibly Abdel and Graham. But Abdel would return home in several months, and Graham was two years younger than he.

He knew that he had damaged that seedling bud of tolerance and understanding that had formed over their brief time together because of one over-reactive outburst. As he steered his broom around the outer walls one last time and then back to the dark and sleeping castle, he knew that he never had felt lonelier than this dark, cold moment.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

The next morning, all students who were of age, or were in their third year and above with the permission of their parents, were setting out for Hogsmeade. They faced a cold and misty final day of October. Fog still shrouded the Black Lake and crept around the trees in the woods, hanging over the shore and between the hills; a fitting day for Halloween. It didn't dampen the excitement of the students leaving the large entrance hall, though some excitement was dampened by the scowl of Argus Filch, the caretaker, who carefully examined all permission forms for any signs of forged signatures. The caretaker was and would ever be a brittle and bitter older man, whose only pleasure was punishing rule-breakers.

Harry grinned as he watched the third years nervously handing their forms to Filch. Too well he remembered his own third year, when he hadn't been allowed to go. Of course, everyone thought that Harry's godfather, the convicted murderer, Sirius Black, was sure to be close by, desiring to murder him. How mistaken they had all been, himself included. It turned out that Sirius was innocent, and one of the best things that ever happened to him in his life. Those couple of years knowing his godfather had given him the feeling of family, even if they only saw each other sporadically. And after his death … well, Harry still mourned him. Sirius had been the closest thing to a father he'd ever known. Except possibly Dumbledore. That loss was still an open wound.

"Remember, when Hermione and I had to go alone to Hogsmeade the first time, and how sad you were?" Ron asked, walking beside him, turning up the collar of his thick jacket. It was uncomfortably cold and damp.

"Yes. But it was during that time that I had a chance to talk to Lupin, and he agreed to teach me the _Patronus_-charm," Potter answered, sighing. "I suspect it was meant to be. Not only that Remus showed me how to perform a _Patronus_, but also that your brothers took pity on me and showed me that secret passage into Hogsmeade – _and_ gave me the Marauder's Map." The two friends looked at each other, missing Fred once again.

"That map - did it show you anything new about our new 'friends'?" Ron changed the subject, the emptiness Fred's death had left behind was still fresh.

"No, nothing," Harry answered, relieved to put the thought of Fred's loss aside. "Abdelghani left Hogwarts three times during the weekends, possibly to take a walk, but he always returned before dinner." Harry sighed. "Maybe they've been warned. Maybe they did notice that someone was there when Hermione, Malfoy and I hid under the invisibility cloak."

Ron shrugged. "Well, we- Hermione? What happened?"

Granger had overtaken them. Storm clouds seemed to hover over her brow. "Nothing, Ron," she snapped. Ginny arrived beside her, looking anxious. "Nothing important. I'll meet you at the market in Hogsmeade. I have to ride with our guests and that blasted Ferret in our Head-coach." She reached in her coat pocket and brought out two golden coins she handed to the two young men. "Here, if something happens, I'll contact you through them."

"Fake-coins, like we used for Dumbledore's Army?" Harry asked, referring to the enchanted coins Hermione created for communication between the members of the secret club.

"Yes, just like them," the Head Girl nodded. "I have my mobile phone, but you have none. This will allow us to remain in contact until we meet at the pub."

"Hermione, is something wrong?" Ron asked gingerly, realizing that his girlfriend was in full dudgeon, and attempting to sidestep her quicksand.

"I don't know, Ronald," she said sarcastically, with a toss of her long hair. "There are still Death Eaters out there who are determined to avenge their dead leader, and we are about to cross over Hogwarts' protecting spells. _Some of us_ don't care or are too arrogant and stupid to realize the danger, and run blindly towards it, but I, contrarily, desire to live a bit longer!" She turned around, her jaw set, eyes glaring. "Until then – and cross your fingers that that bloody squit doesn't do something too pathetically idiotic. I don't want to have to explain to McGonagall why I hexed my Head-partner or broke his pointy little nose!"

She stormed off, and Ron gulped. "Wow. I'm glad I'm not on the other end of _that _mood." Then he frowned. "What did that wanker do to piss her off like that?" he asked.

"Don't know," Ginny sighed. "She gave me one of the signal-coins at breakfast, but didn't say much. She's been in this purple funk the whole morning." She shook her head. "I wouldn't want to be in Malfoy's skin if he does something stupid today and she snaps."

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

The ride to Hogsmeade was tense. The Head-carriage had been constructed early in the previous century, in an elegant, nostalgic style. It had been magically enlarged and offered the four Egyptian guests and the head students enough room to sit comfortably. The upholstery and velvet curtains and lining were a soft, neutral gold and silver.

Hermione chatted with Layla and Neriman, answered questions about the little village and enjoyed their descriptions of the small towns in the middle of Egypt occupied by magical folk, appearing to Muggles as nothing more than piles of high stones. She ignored Malfoy completely, even when he gave her a pleasant 'good morning' when he arrived with Abdel and Edis. But he might as well have been invisible and inaudible. The tiny voice in his head repeated that he'd been wrong to use _l__egilimens_ on her. He told it to shut up. It didn't listen.

It never did.

Of course the four guests felt the tension between their two hosts, but didn't know what to make of it. Then Edis asked the question, "Why are the carriages of Hogwarts to be pulled by Thestrals?"

Both Hermione and Draco stared at him. "How … how do you know?" she finally managed to say. "They are only visible for those who have seen death!" Malfoy noticed that Neriman flinched slightly, while Layla's expression flickered with a momentary sneer. Only Abdel remained relaxed.

Edis shrugged. "Egypt is beautiful, but it is also quite dangerous. There are many ways to die, such as scorpions and cobras, and not every spell can hold them at bay. Death was my companion since I turned seven."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Were you attacked, or did you watch someone die?"

Draco lifted one brow. "Granger, it's rude to ask such _personal_ questions!"

Her mouth thinned. "Not all lack the effrontery to invade another's mind. I prefer the old fashioned manner of learning about other people by _asking_!" she spat, then cleared her throat. She'd caught the surprise on the faces of the other four, then gave them a forced smile. "Never mind, Mr. Malfoy and I have different points of view concerning that subject." She looked back at Edis, who had shifted uncomfortably. "I apologize for my boldness, but I don't know many people who can see Thestrals."

"Yes, they are quite fascinating and clearly misunderstood, nevertheless I'm surprised to find them willingly pulling carriages of wizards. They are not known to be easily tamed."

Hermione remembered something Harry told her when Luna showed him the population of Thestrals in a clearance at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. "They look like thin horses with wings, but somehow … reptile like. They're black and their wings remind me on those of dragons, but… The mare was so tender with her foal and playful as Luna fed them," he'd said. The Head Girl sighed. "I think the herd must have lived quite some time here, near Hogwarts. Harry and Luna saw them at first, but we all thought they were 'seeing things'." She grinned, then looked sharply at Malfoy, as he opened his mouth, his face neutral. "Don't. Say. Anything!" she growled, and then smiled at Edis.

"Yes," Edis responded, ignoring the exchange. "It's rare that students are told about them. They seem unholy, evil, but they can be charming if given a chance."

Malfoy grunted and shot a glare at his partner, who ignored him again. _What_ was her _problem_? He tried to apologize and she ignored every attempts. Okay, he did use an illegal magic on her, but she should understand what an overreaction was. After all, she'd been doing exactly the same thing since yesterday evening.

Hermione was addressing the Egyptians again. "Yes, I rode on a Thestral twice. It was… weird, especially the first time because it was still invisible to me, but I felt safe … as far as anyone can feel safe hundreds of feet in the air," she mumbled the last part.

"You rode a Thestral?" Neriman's eyes were wide, then she giggled. "I prefer flying carpets, but – regrettably – they are forbidden here in Europe."

Talking about Thestrals and flying carpets, they soon arrived in Hogsmeade. The Head-Boy sat silently, only half listening to the chatter. Irritated by Granger's behaviour, confused, discomfited, missing her sweet banter, their conversations and careful teasing during the last weeks, and not knowing how to cope with the situation, he pulled one of the curtains aside and watched the view outside the carriage. The fog had begun to lift, enveloping the brown and golden leaves of the trees and swirled between the tree trunks, giving them an unearthly appearance. He shivered and pulled the heavy woollen knee-length black overcoat tighter about himself. He didn't know why, but he felt something lurking in the air, he was sure of it.

Finally the carriage rolled over the stony bridge and past the low wall that lined the street to Hogsmeade, signalling the end of their ride. "Excuse me," he interrupted, "but we've arrived. We should probably show you the village first, and then the street with the shops and the two pubs. We can split up when the others appear." The four agreed, and when they'd stopped, he gave his hand to Neriman and Layla to help them down the three swaying steps. Hermione gestured to Abdel and Edis to leave the carriage before she, and took Edis' hand when she got out, beaming at him. Her Head-partner rolled his eyes.

A hooded figure, watching the carriage, retreated around the next corner.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

With the arrival of the Hogwarts' students, the quiet little village suddenly enjoyed a burst of activity and commerce. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Wilhelmina and other Gryffindors, accompanied by Luna and four Ravenclaws, arrived first, accompanied by McGonagall. The Headmistress had used the opportunity to speak with Harry and the Weasleys privately – something she'd never done with students before. The war had indeed changed many things. She felt for Harry like her own grandson, wished for but never received. Ron, Harry's best friend and certainly his future brother-in-law, had a place in her well-kept heart, also.

The two Head-students and their guests awaited the others at the market, after Hermione and Malfoy showed their guests through the village. Hermione told them about the founder, Hengist of Woodcroft, and the status the village had held during the Goblin Rebellion in 1612 and during the Second Wizardry War, how he'd probably built the _Three Broomsticks_ to live there. Draco was certain it was far more than the other four cared to know. Hermione was probably the only student in the last hundred years who actually _listened_ during their History of Magic classes. _The girl is a sponge!_ he thought, shaking his head.

Hermione joined the other Gryffindors as soon as they arrived, reported to the headmistress that the four wanted to stroll alone through Hogsmeade, and was soon talking with Ginny, completely ignoring her Head-partner once again. Harry watched Malfoy point out something to Abdel, then walked off alone. He didn't wait for other Slytherins, which was strange, but then, Malfoy had been acting strangely over the last few weeks.

Hermione's mood lifted, chatting with her friends, seeing the magical Halloween decorations throughout the village. When evening came, every street and structure would look enchanted – like it did when snow covered it during the winter, or in the summer, covered in flowers. But right now it did not resemble the peaceful little village, especially as two more groups arrived.

_Zonko's Joke Shop_ and the _Honeydukes_ were, as always, besieged by the younger students. The pubs got crowded and the small alleys and byways between the cottages and the main street buzzed with voices. Several owls soared above, coming to or from the _Owl Post Office_. From _Dominic Maestro's_, the very wrong tune of some piano music sounded. Two Quidditch players from Ravenclaw came out of the _Spintwitches_ carrying large packages – obviously two new brooms. An hysterical female voice screeched in dismay from of the Hair Salon across from _The Three Broomsticks_ about 'pink and green hair'. Not far away, Hagrid's massive figure pushed through the crowd, speaking with someone walking with him. Luna appeared at the door _Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop_, smiling back over her shoulder and calling 'thank you!'

Hermione and Ginny left the boys and walked to the dress shop to choose their gowns for the Christmas party. The Head-Girl was still determined to give her partner some of 'his own medicine', as he so often did with other girls. And after their latest debacle, she was ready to pay him back ... hard.

They visited rack after rack of brilliantly coloured dresses, of every style and fabric imaginable, until finally: "This is the one!" Hermione whirled around, holding it up in front of her.

Ginny stared incredulously. "You… you want ... you think _that's_ the right one?"

Hermione beamed. "It's perfect!" She looked down at it. "The colours suit, it's sexy but not revealing, it shows my legs and my back, but it's still elegant. It's perfect for Christmas. Even the robe is almost sexy!" Hermione, who never paid attention to current styles, was almost bouncing with joy as she gestured to the silken robe, which echoed the basic colours of the dress. "That's exactly what I was looking for."

Ginny chuckled, surrendering to her friend's enthusiasm. At least Hermione's dark mood had lifted. "Fine, if you think it's perfect, then try in on." She had found a dress in a deep scarlet, echoing and enhancing the rich auburn of her hair, and now showed it to friend. "I do think I've found mine, too."

They both giggled like the schoolgirls they were as they helped each other into their dresses. Both of them oohed and ahhed at the results, twirling in front of the mirror and each other. Hermione grinned, looking down at the dress one last time. "That's it, I'll take it." She glanced at her friend. "You will help me with my hair, won't you?" There was a pleading look in her eye and the Ginny grinned.

"Yes, of course." Her smile left her face. "Are you sure you want to go through with your plan?"

"More than ever!" Hermione responded, looking determined, and retreated to the changing cubicle. "I intend to make Draco bloody Malfoy's head spin!"

Helping her friend out of the dress, Ginny pursed her lips, while the shop was becoming busy, as more and more female students came in, searching excitedly for their own costumes. "What did he do this time? You two seemed to get along the last weeks since the Quidditch game, and all of sudden this morning…"

"Yes, we _were_ getting along. Then he regressed back to his King-of-the-world persona, and God help those who get in his way," she growled, finally ready to talk about yesterday's incident. "Can you imagine that he…" She fell silent. In the next changing cabinet, giggles could be heard, and the Head-Girl rolled her eyes. "I tell you later. Too many ears here."

Ginny nodded and turned her back towards Hermione. "Give me a hand?"

"Sure!"

Ten minutes later the two friends left the shop, each with a large bag. They looked around at the busy streets. "It seems Hogsmeade is a tad full today," Ginny joked, and Hermione giggled: "Wait until _all_ students are here. _Then_ you can call it 'full'." The two girls laughed and walked to _The Three Broomsticks_, where they greeted the attractive Madame Rosmerta and the two boys who awaited them. Of course, the pub's owner was delighted to have the Golden Trio and their friends in her establishment, and it was no problem for the resolute woman to stretch a small table and to add more chairs, offering all of her guests places to relax.

Harry ordered a butterbeer, and then Hermione pulled out her mobile telephone, inserted the battery, and spent the next ten minutes setting up this useful Muggle device. Then she dialled her parents' number, waiting eagerly for a voice at the other end. After the fourth ring, a female voice spoke up: "Office of Dr. Granger, good day, how can I help you?"

Realizing that she had her mother and not the receptionist on the phone, Hermione squealed with excitement, and then she and her mother were talking … and talking … and talking. Harry and Ron chuckled, seeing their friend with the phone at her ear. It looked so out-of-place in this rustic environment. Hermione then talked with her father, filling him in on the last weeks without telling them anything that would worry them.

Finally she gave the mobile to Ron, inculcated that he _didn't_ have to scream to be heard in London, and afterwards Harry and Ginny spoke to the Grangers, glad for the opportunity. The display on the tiny screen showed that they had been on the line more than twenty minutes. Harry had some idea what it might be costing, but as long as Hermione didn't care, he didn't either.

As _The Three Broomsticks_ grew more crowded, the clique left the pub in the early afternoon and split up again, because the boys wanted to visit the sport shop, _Spintwitches_, and Ginny and Hermione wanted to visit the book shop. They passed the wishing well in the town square, snickering as two younger students racing by stepped on Madame Sprout's skirt, earning a lecture from her. Turning into the narrow lane that led to the book shop, Hermione suddenly halted. "No! Can I go nowhere without running into him?"

There, at the end of the street, the tall, blond figure appeared, carrying a purchase and talking with Abdel. His open coat billowed behind him, and he presented an attractive appearance which didn't go unnoticed by a couple of the younger girls, who watched him with adoring eyes. Hermione groaned. "I do NOT want to see him just now!"

"What did he _do_?" Ginny asked for the fifth time.

Hermione sighed. "He learned that I overheard him talk with his mother, and then everything fell apart." She frowned as something caught her eye. There was a movement where a shadow of a building fell into the alley. She recognized a form, wearing a hooded cape, glimpsed a metallic gleam where the face would be.

Cape … Hood … Mask …

_Death Eater_! NO!

The revelation awoke a cold rage in her. But that was nothing compared to the emotion that exploded in her as she saw their enemy raising a wand toward a certain young man.

She acted without thought. Dropping her bags, she darted toward the Slytherin in front of her. She didn't think of the danger to herself, if the spell would hit her instead of him. She had to reach him in time ... !

"MALFOY!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, shoving past several pedestrians, her frantic eyes on him and his shocked face. A green flash shot towards the Head-Boy, while the words "_Avada Kedavra_!" echoed down the narrow street …

TBC…

_Yeah, I know, I am mean! A cliffhanger like that… __Tu-tu, not nice (laugh)._

_I do hope you liked this chapter so far and be sure that in the next one will be a hell of action. I don't want to tell you too much, only this: The Death Eaters are all over Hogsmeade and our friends will find themselves in a deadly situation._

_We – Cheetah and I – will hurry._

_Please leave some comments._

_Love you all,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	21. Surrounded

_My dear Readers!_

_Sorry that the publishing of the next part comes only now, and not at the weekend, but the Advent and family-business besides the usual work is catching up._

_Thank you so much for the last reviews I got from you. I am really happy that some more and 'new' readers are leaving comments and I am glad that the story has found so much interest by now. Concerning Megan N. Moxhet's review: well, Hermione and Ron are still a couple, sort of, but the distance of the living-area (well, not so far away, but not the same dormitory any longer) and the many duties as a Head-Girl parallel to the immense learning-stuff keeps the two apart. And this is one of the reasons, why things between them will change more and more._

_Back to the story. The last chappi ended with a cliff-hanger (laugh) and I am certain you're all curious, what happens next. Well, a lot of action, danger, desperate decisions, up-flaring emotions in the face of danger. I hope you're going to like it._

_So, off to Hogsmeade,_ _H_

_ave fun,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 20 – Surrounded**

"_Avada Kedavra_!" echoed from the cottage walls around them. The green burst of light from the worst of all curses tore through the air above them - as Hermione hurled herself at her partner and tackled him to the ground. The curse missed them by hairsbreadth and struck a window. It exploded into splinters.

Draco fell hard, head striking the pavement. Hermione landed in top of him, both of them gasping. For a brief moment he saw stars and didn't know what happened or why. Then he watched a green flash passing and heard glass shattering, the words of the most unforgivable spell bellowed from down the street, and people started to scream. Reacting instinctively, he pushed Hermione off and rolled over her protectively as people ran past them, trying to jump over them, tripping in the process. The flying feet striking his side and shoulder were enough to jumpstart his brain again. He knew instantly what was going on. Someone had tried to murder him from behind, and that the killing curse had been foiled because of Granger. And the killer was still around!

"_PROTEGO_!"

He recognized 'the Weaslette's' voice, and felt the soft _whoosh_ of the protection charm closing around him and Granger. Lifting his head, he saw people running in panic, while spells flew through the air. Some of the pedestrians were fighting back. "Now!" he shouted, leaping to his feet and pulling her with him. Shoving her backwards he lifted his wand and added to the shield, aware that Abdel was hurling curses at two figures who had appeared at the next street corner. And Draco didn't need to look closer to know they were Death Eaters.

'_Damn! Granger was right! They'd been waiting for me!'_

"Weaslette, Abdel, that way!" he shouted, pointing back in the direction of the square. They had to get out of this narrow alley if they wanted to live through this. If the Death Eaters surrounded them, they would have no chance to fight or to flee. He saw Ginny nodding while at his side Hermione sent another jinx toward the hooded figure, who stumbled backwards, losing the mask.

Draco froze as he recognized the face instantly. _No, this could not be! Not his own second uncle! Not possible … !_

"Draco, _NOW!_" Hermione shouted, grabbing his left wrist and dragging him with her. He lost sight of Rabastan Lestrange when two residents ran between them, and it was enough to bring Malfoy back to the present. Swearing under his breath, he dodged down the alley together with the two girls and Abdel, then stopped as another hooded figure came out of the bakery, wand directed toward them. Immediately he raised a new protection charm around them, followed by "_Stupefy_!" The man instantly fell to the ground, unconscious.

And then a burning pain attached itself to his left forearm. Not expecting it, Malfoy let out a gurgling scream and pressed his right hand over the Dark Mark that seemed to sear his arm. Agony swept his body, sent white lights before his eyes and burst in his head. Without realizing, he sank to his knees, bending over in anguish.

Hermione knew the instant he doubled over what was happening. Letting go his wrist, she made sure of the protective shield around them, then crouched beside him; her heart racing. She didn't know how she could help him. It was obvious that the attackers were using his Dark Mark to slow him down, and she felt fury awake in her toward his tormenters, her flaring anger from last evening completely forgotten. "What is it?" shouted Ginny beside her, while Abdel fought off another attack; his dark eyes glittering dangerously.

"They're torturing him through the Dark Mark," Hermione spat, wrapping one arm around the Head-Boy, almost hugging him in comfort.

"_Draco, you will not escape!" _The deep gravelly voice boomed through the alley, inspiring more fear in those around them – and woke the determination of the Gryffindor-Queen.

"Bastard, you will not get him!" she shouted back and tried to haul Malfoy to his feet by the collar of his coat. The look on his face told her he would _not_ allow the attacker any victories. He swayed as he rose, but rise he did.

"Quickly," he gasped, his eyes full of pain. He accepted Hermione's steadying arm while they half ran, half stumbled forwards. It was the residents of Hogsmeade that prevented Rabastan and the two other Death Eaters from pursuing the students. They forcefully engaged the Death Eaters and protected the four Hogwarts students.

They ran to the marketplace, and it was only Ginny's nimble reflexes and rapid spell-working that prevented them from getting hit by more spells, as she reinforced the _Protego_ charm. Shouts and screams filled the marketplace, too; curses whizzed through the air. Some of the wizards tried to fight the intruders off, while others desperately hurried their families to safety. With dread the two Head-Students realized the scope of the episode: the Death Eaters were using this opportunity to take their revenge against the 'heroes' of the war during their recreational trip to the little wizarding village. Unencumbered by any scruples, they attacked in the middle of hundreds of other students and innocent villagers.

"We have to find the others!" Hermione panted and Ginny nodded.

"Harry and Ron wanted to go to the _Spintwitches_, and-"

"Are you daft?" Malfoy wheezed, colour returning to his face. Obviously the pain was fading. "There are Death Eaters all around us and you two only think of Scarhead and the Weasel?"

"We _look after_ each other!" Hermione snapped, but got no further.

"I bloody _know_ that, Granger! But those two can take care of themselves, as they've proven repeatedly." She still had one arm wrapped around his waist and his right arm still lay across her shoulder, and neither of them noticed.

"Draco, no time!" Abdel shouted, pointing down the street where they had just been. Two more persons in capes and masks were coming toward them, and the local populace was retreating. The third one hadn't replaced his mask and glared, sneering at Malfoy: Rabastan Lestrange.

"You're dead, Malfoy!" he roared, raising his wand.

Tightening his right arm around Hermione, Draco pulled her along with him, shouting: "Hurry!" He plunged into the milling, darting crowd, knowing that it was the only cover they had. Ginny and Abdel followed them. Suddenly Harry was there, Ron at his side, who immediately noticed the half-embrace of the two senior-students. Both girls screamed in relief, while Malfoy called: "Potter, they're everywhere! We have to take cover!"

Harry forced his gaze away from Malfoy's arm around Hermione's shoulder and hers around his waist, realizing they were supporting each other, nodded and sent another curse towards one hooded figure, who ducked. "We've got to get out of the open!" Harry shouted, shoving Ginny behind him. Ron hurled a stunning spell toward one Death Eater on a roof above them, and backed up to the others. "Take your bloody Slytherin-hands off her!" he snarled, anger and fear in his eyes as he glanced back at the Head-Boy.

"DOWN!" Abdel screamed and it was only because of his excellent eyes and the reflexes of the others that two more killing curses missed them. Abdel projected a flaming wall in front of them that swallowed the curse before it harmlessly broke apart.

"It was a trap!" Draco yelled, letting go of Hermione and grabbing Harry's free arm, his own left arm still burned, but he could use it again. "They are here for us and-"

"DOWN AGAIN!"

Hermione's warning cry made both young men duck again, then they whirled around and raised their wands, standing back to back.

"Hermione, take the girls and Abdel away to the _Hog's Head_. Dumbledore knows what to do to re-open the passage to Hogwarts!" Harry yelled over his shoulder, disarming another attacker.

Draco screamed, "Are you insane, Potter? Dumbledore is _dead_!"

"His _brother_, you dimsquit!" Harry snarled back, blinding a Death Eater with another curse.

In the meantime the marketplace was emptying. Most of the students – especially the younger ones – and the inhabitants of Hogsmeade had fled the scene, but the furious orders of McGonagall, the bellowing one of Slughorn and the squeaking of Flickwick revealed that the teachers had joined the battle.

"We have to find cover," the Potter told them. "Quick, to the stalls!"

Building a shield for Ginny, Hermione, Luna and three other girls, Harry, Ron, Malfoy and Abdel protected their backs as they flew toward the few abandoned stalls. Edis, Graham Pritchard and two seventh year Ravenclaw boys closed up behind them, adding to the shield, before they all threw themselves behind a large market stall, crouching for cover.

One of stalls near them exploded in flames, and they felt the heat in the chill October morning. The green eyes behind the spectacles flared with wrath as Harry growled: "Hermione, show Abdel and Edis the way to the _Hog's Head_. And take Ginny, Luna and the other girls with you."

"The passage from the _Hog's Head_ ends in the Room of Requirement – in the forbidden wing of the castle! It's still under construction!" Hermione reminded him.

"I don't care where it ends. It should hold up with just you few there," Harry shot back. They all ducked as another curse hurled above them and hit the stall, wooden splinters rained down on them, while the shouting got louder. "You have to go, _now_!" Potter told them.

"My uncle and the other Death Eaters will kill them as soon as they leave cover!" Draco snapped, his mind was reeling. Merlin, they were surrounded and the Death Eaters seemed to outnumber them and the teachers. How would they manage to escape this time?

"Your _uncle_…?" Abdel gasped and Malfoy nodded grimly.

"Yeah!"

Harry had been thinking. "We have to keep them busy. Malfoy - you, Ron, Frank, Tony, Pritchard and I will join with the others and McGonagall and Slughorn. We will distract the Death Eaters, and the others can make their run to safety."

"We will NOT run away while you're in danger!" Hermione hissed; Ginny shook her head vehemently.

"They are after Ron and Ginny to draw their parents out of hiding so they can finish them off!" Harry said hurriedly. "And I know they'd love to get their dirty hands on you, too, Hermione, so stifle it and get to safety!"

Draco looked at the two girls, while not far away McGonagall seemed to have forgotten her usual decorum, and shouted imaginative insults at the aggressors. "Amazingly, I agree with you, Potter! You're going with the others!" Draco told them, his silver eyes on Hermione.

"You can't order me arou-" she started, but Malfoy interrupted her sharply, taking her by the nape of her neck and going nose to nose with her, ignoring Ron's gasp of outrage. "Edis and Abdel are our _guests_ and we are responsible for them. So for pity's sake, take them to safety and try to find Neriman and Layla. And _get under cover_ with Dumbledore's brother - or you'll get it from me when we're back at Hogwarts!" As much as he desperately wanted to seek shelter, he wanted her out of danger even more.

Hermione gaped at him, but before she could retort, the meagre walls about them exploded in flames, forcing the Slytherin-Prince to pull her down and to curl protectively around her. Ashes and sparks rained down on them, and Luna did a quick charm to douse the sparks on their hair and clothes.

There was no going back. They had to act. "NOW!" Harry yelled. He rose and sent spell after spell toward the hooded figures around them, careful not to hit a teacher by accident. Ron, Graham and the two Ravenclaw boys were doing the same, hurling spells around them, creating cover for the girls. Draco cast his eyes one last time at Hermione, and then, not even realizing what he was about to do before he already had done it, he pressed a chaste kiss on her forehead, before he shoved her towards Abdel, shielding her with a protection charm.

"RUN!" he yelled at the stunned Hermione, who stumbled after Abdel. Luna, looking knowingly at the Head-Boy for the briefest of moments, pulled a bristling Ginny along with her, Edis covering their retreat, while in the street the other young wizards ran towards McGonagall and Slughorn, distracting the Death Eaters. Hermione spat a frustrated oath. They had no other choice but to go through with the plan now, for all their lives were at stake.

She was baffled by Draco's sweet gesture, but heard the voice shouting above the noise around them: "It's one of the blood traitors and the Mudblood!" That shook her out of her distraction. Running even faster, she and the others took off down the main street, praying to Providence that her friends and that blasted Slytherin would make it out alive.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry had reached McGonagall. "Potter, where are the others going-"

"_Professor_!"

Harry pushed her out of the way, as a curse came flying toward them from above and missed her, striking him square on the left shoulder, hurling him to the ground. A pained scream was torn from his lips, and his eyes watered. It felt as if his shoulder had been set aflame, and for a long moment he lost his perception to anything around him. Taking several deep breaths, the acrid smell of burnt flesh helped him fight off the shadows approaching. If he lost consciousness now, he was good as dead.

Minerva stumbled against Ron, gasping when she saw Harry injured on the ground. Draco fired a spell towards the dark figure on the roof who had sent the curse, but the Death Eater leaped out of the way.

Slughorn was beside them. "Shield my back!" he barked to no one particular, bent and pulled Harry to his feet, dragging him down the street. "Retreat!" he shouted, backing off towards some homes. The others did the same, hurling curses at the attackers, while Weasley and Malfoy reinforced the protection shields about them. They reached the cottages and ducked behind the stone fences.

McGonagall glanced at Harry. "I'm grateful for your help, Potter, but don't ever put yourself in danger for me again!"

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Harry told her: "They will not harm anyone else who is dear to me. I've lost too many!"

Minerva didn't reply, but she blinked away a sudden mist, and her hand cupped his cheek momentarily before she returned her attention to the marketplace and the spells flying in every direction.

Suddenly screams sounded from the direction Hermione and the others had run, and Malfoy flinched. He knew what it meant, as did Ron, who prepared to run after them, his face a mask of determination and fury. Harry caught himself and broke away from Slughorn, gasping, "Thank you, Professor, it's not so bad anymore." A lie, as the Potions-teacher realized. The wound was still bleeding, but there was no time for any more.

"They are attacking Hermione and the others now," Ron growled. "And we're hiding here like rabbits!"

"We have to get through," Frank nodded, the fingers around his wand tightened.

"They would kill us instantly," Graham protested.

Ron snapped back: "Didn't you hear? They are attacking _our friends_ now and certainly other students and families. We have to-"

An explosion from down the main street silenced them all. Paling, McGonagall gasped hoarsely, "That was near the _Hog's Head_! Sweet Merlin!"

"_Hermione_!" Ron bellowed, leaping up, but Harry yanked him back down, and not a moment too soon, as the red flash passed over his head and into the wall behind them. "You can't help her, if you're dead!" he yelled, forcing his emotions under control. _'Ginny… Hermione… Luna… Jesus Christ, help them now, please! Angels, protect them!'_ he silently prayed.

Minerva pressed her lips together, then made her decision. "We are getting out of here and getting through. We'll go in pairs, then run in different directions. We'll meet here after we've sent those devils back to where they came from or, better yet, sent them all to Azkaban. On three: One, two, three!"

At her signal, the headmistress leaped up, hurled two spells towards the partially exposed Death Eaters and started to run, pulling Frank with her. Slughorn did the same with Graham, while Flitwick took Tony with him. Ron steadied Harry, while Draco shielded his other side, feeling the unwelcome pull of the old life-debt from last spring.

The four groups parted, sending spells and curses in every direction where they'd seen attackers. Cracks appeared in the ground wherever spells hit it, the ugly smell of hot stones filled the air, insults and screams echoed down the streets.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione was frightened and angry as Abdel dragged her along the main street. She wanted to stay, to fight alongside her friends and that mystery Draco Malfoy, but as they left the marketplace behind, and people all around her were battling the Death Eaters, who seemed to come from every direction, resisted at every turn by the witches and wizards trying to protect their homes, she knew that she couldn't return. She had faith in Harry and Ron, she knew Malfoy's skills, and she trusted McGonagall, Slughorn and Flitwick to look after themselves and the students who remained to defend Hogsmeade. Still she felt a bone-deep fear inside her. She had known fear during the war, but this was ... different. It was strong, almost strong override her rationality. _As though it came from elsewhere -_

"They are everywhere!" one of the three girls with them screeched, as two more masked figures appeared, and only the interference of three wizards from Hogsmeade prevented the students from being taken by surprise.

Edis stopped and pushed Luna behind him, his amber eyes now a dirty yellow, a low snarl escaped him. He lifted his wand, uttered something in his mother tongue and hurled two golden flashes at the approaching enemies – with conclusive result. It broke through their protective shield and threw them onto their backs. White linen strips immediately wrapped themselves around them, binding them entirely in neat patterns, and covered them both in seconds, only their noses exposed.

Hermione and Ginny gasped, while Luna and the three other girls stared amazed at the two Death Eaters and then up to Edis. "Now how did you do that?" Luna asked serenely, as if he would hold a special tutorial for them there and then.

"Neat trick!" the Head-Girl called, trod over the two 'mummies' and headed towards the _Hog's Head_, her friends and the two visiting young men at her side. She saw the tall, dark building of the _Hog's Head_ at the end of the street, its dark windows and blackened walls, still in desperate need of soap and water, loomed into the darkening skies.

Another spell was hurled in their direction and Abdel pushed Hermione out of the way, stumbling backwards into Edis, Ginny and Luna. It saved them all. The curse hit the cottage beside them, splintering the rocks of the wall, and instantly the building burst into flames, while the shock of an explosion rolled across the valley and back again. Windows trembled and shattered, walls shivered, heat spread out into the air. The flames flared out of the broken windows and the door of the cottage, blacking the walls with smoke. The nasty stench of the Death Eater-curse wafted toward them.

Everyone around had fallen to the ground, shocked and hurt. Hermione moved slowly, her wand, amazingly, still firmly in her grip, while she pushed Abdel carefully off of her. He moaned and, with a gasp, she saw that the back of his robe was torn and bloody. Not far away lay a large splinter of wood, hurled at them by the sheer force of the explosion. She knew that it was responsible for the wound on Abdel's back.

Ginny and Luna rose shakily and quickly looked around for Death Eaters, but it appeared that the one who had sent the curse had fallen prey to it. Only ten meters away, he lay motionless in his own blood. One of the roof tiles had sliced off the top of his skull. They quickly looked away.

Edis knelt down by his school mate and had a closer look at his wound. "Not so bad!" he said, "a flesh wound." Carefully he helped him to his feet, while Luna gathered Abdel's wand.

All now covered in soot, dust, blood and sweat, the students looked around carefully. Several resident wizards and a thin witch who also had been knocked from their feet approached, asking if they could help, while others sent jets of water from their wands into the raging fire. Others screamed the names of persons who were missing from the action.

"We have to get out of here!" Hermione gasped, coughing from the smoke. "Hurry!" Stumbling more than walking, she led them down the street. Her watering eyes darted to every shadow, expecting another attack.

They were almost to the inn when several more hooded figures appeared from a path between homes – mute and dark as death itself. Wands were pointed at the students, and they halted, and for a long moment there was silence. One of the Death Eaters lifted a slender hand and pushed the hood away, revealing an artful silver mask that covered her face, and flaming red hair that fell in soft waves. The wandless hand pointed at Ginny and Hermione, while a cold female voice called: "You all can go – except for those two."

Edis stared at her, his eyes flashing. "All of us or none, you ridiculous she-devil!" His Egyptian accent, normally barely recognizable, was strong now, laced with a deep growl.

"What did you call her?" another snarled, and Hermione recognized the voice of Dolohov. And she remembered all too well their episode at the Ministry.

"I think he bloody well used the right words!" another voice shouted from behind the masked killers, and they whirled around. Hermione gasped when she saw the tall bearded old man with piercing blue eyes, eyes so familiar and so missed. Clad in his filthy old apron, threadbare waistcoat, sweater and trousers, there stood the owner of the _Hog's Head_: Aberforth Dumbledore, the younger brother of Hogwarts' most famous, finest, and former headmaster.

"You!" another of the hooded silhouettes screeched and raised his wand, but Aberforth was ready. Flicking his wand, his attacker flew backwards, barely missing Luna and Ginny, stopped by the stone wall behind them and falling down, unconscious.

"NOW!" Hermione yelled and used that opportunity to attack, stunning one of them and binding the second one, before the female hurled a spell at her, which she blocked.

"Run! Go!" Dumbledore shouted at them and ran toward the enemy, together with several other wizards who appeared from their homes, driven by the courage of despair and joined him in the fight.

"Why don't we apparate to the inn?" Ginny cried, seeing that path to the pub was blocked.

"Too dangerous. We do not know where to apparate inside," Hermione replied in a pinched voice. "Divide!"

"Don't think you can escape!" Dolohov roared, running towards them, shielding himself against Luna's and Hermione's spells, but Edis lifted his wand and growled something in his own language again. Dolohov was knocked backward, his whole body tightly bound by chains with the appearance of golden cobras.

"Go now!" Edis ordered, still supporting Abdel, and took off with Luna beside them. Hermione pulled Gillian, a Hufflepuff girl with her, while Ginny headed away with the other two girls coming from Ravenclaw.

"They're going to kill us!" Gillian whimpered, while the Head Girl dragged her along, down the byroad Dolohov and the others had emerged from.

"Not today!" Granger hissed – and stopped so suddenly Gillian ran into her.

A large shadow had just appeared in front of them that wore no cape or mask. At first she thought she was facing one of Hogsmeade's residents. But he moved into the daylight, revealing his features. Pale, dull, greedy eyes looked at her from beneath a heavy widow's peak. He grinned wolfishly, revealing pointed teeth, and licked his red lips.

"Hallo, li'l sweetheart!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco shoved the other two down the main street that was now filling with smoke from the burning cottage, pushing against his own rising fear and the lingering pain in his left arm. Some people were hiding here, and fired curses at the Death Eaters. Some of them tried to follow the Head-Boy and the two other students.

"It's _Potter_! _Get him alive_!"

Malfoy would have recognized that voice everywhere: "Rabastan!"

"Nice family!" Ron jeered, stumbling forward with Harry.

"Shut up, Weasley!" Draco snarled, coughing as the smoke got thicker, and he looked about with bloodshot eyes and tried to breathe through his sleeve. The light from the flaming cottage flickered over the walls, the ground was covered with glass splinters. Screams of anger and pain filled the air, and Draco was forcefully reminded of that dreadful night his Aunt Bellatrix, Greyback and other Death Eaters appeared inside Hogwarts - because of his arrangements – the night Albus Dumbledore was killed.

He was struck by a vivid memory: the Great Hall, and his aunt scampering down the Gryffindor house table, smashing glasses and crockery, destroying the ancient rose window, while the terrified shouts of the students on the other floors echoed around him. For this one infinite moment, he felt as if he'd just been taken out of himself, that he could see the truth of what he'd been, of the choice he was now required to make, and the endless ramifications of that choice. He saw for the very first time the darkness that had enclosed around those people who had followed Voldemort and his evil policies. In that unbounded second, he saw how deeply the insane hatred and lust to destroy now consumed the Death Eaters, and he cringed inwardly. But he'd had no choice then. Refusing Voldemort's order would have meant death for himself, his father, his mother. He'd missed Dumbledore's generous offer of the opportunity to get out of this insanity alive and protected. That night in the tower, he had to face a future devoid of hope.

'_Never again!'_ he vowed. Not if he could prevent it. He'd had enough of standing aside, watching destruction, terror and death. He, Draco Abraxas Malfoy, had finally found the courage to take his fate into his own hands. As a child, his father had always stood up for him whenever he was in deep water, but he was no longer that child. He was an adult, and as such he knew that he had to do this on his own, but also for those who were dear to him. His family had chosen a side, the right one in the end. They all knew it. The revelation had been as if they had emerged from a very long, very dark tunnel, and could now see about them, see what they'd been doing, whom they'd been serving. He had been given a second chance and he would defend those for whom he took responsibility – even if it meant supporting his old school-enemy, because their childish antagonism was nothing compared to the horror being thrust upon them all again now.

Helping an obviously weakened Potter to keep cover behind a rain barrel, he caught his breath. Blinking into the greyness around him he realized that most students must have fled Hogsmeade, and the only ones remaining were the former members of Dumbledore's Army, some professors and wizards and witches from the village, who were defending their homes.

"We have to find Hermione, Ginny and the others," Ron panted.

Harry nodded. "Yes, immediately."

A shadow fell on them and Weasley and Malfoy swung their wands about and into the face of Madame Sprout. The stout little professor was out of breath, and her grey curls hung loose about her sweating face, and she'd lost her hat. She quickly evaluated the three young men. "That," she sighed, "doesn't look good." She knelt down in front of Harry and pointed her wand at his still bleeding shoulder, murmuring a healing spell. Potter gasped and his face twisted as the wound started to close, but no other sound came past his lips.

"Professor, did you see Hermione, Ginny and the others?" Ron asked, and Madame Sprout shook her head. "No, but I saw Miss Lovegood and our four guest-students not far away from here." She lowered her wand. "More I cannot do for you, Mr. Potter. You will have to visit Poppy as soon as we're back."

Harry nodded. "Thank you, Professor," he said through his teeth, white beneath the dirt.

"What's about the other students?" Draco asked, ignoring the surprised glances of his two school opponents. _What did they think? That he didn't care for those he had taken responsibility for by accepting his status as Head-Boy? They were wrong!_ He wasn't a spoiled little child anymore, but he knew that those two would have a hard time accepting that.

"Hagrid took them back to Hogwarts," Sprout answered shortly and rose. "Quick now, boys, we have to- Mr. Weasley!"

Ron suddenly sprinted down the street down and then Harry followed when he saw the redhead appear, accompanied by the three girls who had gone with her. "_Ginny_!"

She was in tears when she threw herself at him. "Dumbledore's brother came to help us … and Abdel is hurt … and … as we went toward the _Hog's Head_, Hermione and Gillian…!" Her words came out in a rush, and now clinging to Harry she trembled like a leaf in the storm.

"What about Hermione!" Ron shouted, and it was Gillian, who answered shakily: "We ran into an alley, and there was this huge man everyone's looking for. That werewolf. Greyback."

"WHAT?" Malfoy had joined them, and he grew cold when he heard the name of the monster. "What did you say?" he demanded, grabbing Gillian's arm.

"Greyback. I recognized him when Hermione tried to curse him, then she took off, to lead him away from me. He doesn't wear those robes or a mask and," a sob escaped her, "he ran after her, laughing as if enjoying himself!"

Ron and Harry stared at each other, ignoring that the noises of combat down the street, getting louder. They remembered only too well that the werewolf had been more than interested in their friend, and they were terrified for her.

And Draco recalled the feral greed of Greyback, too. This beast loved to feed on young people, even in his human form. He knew that the werewolf had been eager to get Granger for himself when she was a prisoner at Malfoy-Manor. A sick feeling grew in his stomach.

Potter suddenly pushed Ginny towards Madame Sprout. "Take her and the others back to Hogwarts, Professor!" he told her, not caring that he was ordering a teacher around. "You three as well!" he said, pointing at the other three girls. "Gillian, which direction did they go?"

"Near the inn to the right," the Hufflepuff sixth-year whispered, frightened, and Harry nodded. A second later he and Ron darted off, ignoring Madame Sprout's frantic orders to get out of Hogsmeade. Malfoy uttered an unlikely oath and sprinted after them, straight towards the fight near the _Hog's Head_. His instincts told him to flee, but – again – something inside him wouldn't allow it. He wasn't brave like Potter, but he HAD to find his partner. There. Simple as that. And it made him angry. Why was he – again! – putting his safety on the line for that _bookworm_? Why had he kissed her before he pushed her towards Abdel, ordering her to go to safety?

He knew the answer.

But he couldn't dare think it.

As they neared the battle, Harry stopped and gasping for breath. He wheezed, "Ron, Malfoy, we have to split up. She can't be far. Whoever finds her takes her to Hogwarts and sends word via Kreacher."

"Right!" Draco ran right, guided by a feeling. Somehow he _felt_ where Hermione was and then he realized why. Not twenty-four hours before, their minds had been joined, and the link had been an intense one. There was a shadow of that connection in his soul. Pausing in a niche, he crouched down, closed his eyes, slowed his breathing and concentrated. He pictured every detail of the Muggle-born witch, every shadow and soft curve of her face, the deep brown of her large eyes, the rose of her lips and the wild mane. Then – when her picture was clear in his mind – he blocked out the noise around him, pointed his wand in the direction the girl had to be and whispered, "_Legilimens_!"

He felt his mind reaching out, finding the familiar soul, and entwined with it. Instantly fear flooded him – not his own but Granger's. He could sense her terror, her growing despair, but also her determination, and he needed all his effort to fight through it, to ignore the intense emotions and to force himself to hold the link. And then he could see through her eyes. She was running; parted from the others she fled down the alley, loud steps behind her. She turned her head and Draco could see the grim face of Greyback, his eyes shining with delight and sick pleasure. And he was closing.

Holding the link a moment longer, Draco reached out to her: _'Hold on, I'm coming!'_, then he broke the spell and he gasped for air. He felt sweat running into his eyes and dripping onto the hand where he steadied himself on his knee. It was the first time he had tried to reach someone without being near them, and it had cost him.

"Tired already, _dearest_ nephew?"

Draco whirled, instinctively raising a shield. Rabastan Lestrange stood only steps away, sneering at him; a cut on his left temple dripped down his face and off his chin. "You fought well, but not well enough. Shame you'll never reach your full potential. But then, perhaps, it's all for the best, seeing you're so taken with a filthy Mudblood!"

For the second time, this word caused him a definite discomfort, waking fury in him. "Don't call her that, _uncle_!" he spat.

Rabastan chuckled, but his eyes remained cold. "Still thinking with your pecker, I see. Just like Fenrir, though I can't understand why. She _is_ pretty, but a lower form of creation, similar to ... say, an animal." He sighed. "No matter. Our wolf certainly has her just now and will surely take his pleasure with her as man and beast." He smiled as he saw the boy's face grow whiter, and slowly moved forward.

Draco raised his wand again; his mind reeling from the image of Granger being in the clutches of that inhuman monster, and the fact that he was facing a family member who was there to _murder_ him. He felt oddly renewed, and magic seemed to pour into him. "Don't come nearer, uncle!" he warned, the end of his wand emitting sparks. He knew it was him or Aunt Bella's brother in law. He hadn't survived Voldemort, the war, the pursuit of a werewolf under full moon, only to fall prey to a revenge-seeing old man who refused to see the world differently. No, he never would flee again from him, but would fight him – perhaps to the death!

Rabastan laughed harshly. "Or what? You'll kill me? You don't have it in you, you puny coward!" He pointed his wand to his left arm, there, where his own Dark Mark was, and a moment later Malfoy yelped in renewed agony. "Always had Daddy to fill in for you, haven't you?" taunted Rabastan. "But not now. You're alone, boy, and now you'll face the consequences for your betrayal."

Draco thought that his coat might burst into flames at any second, but he dare not let his guard down. His instinct for survival put the fighting edge to his mind. Gasping, he straightened as he heard the fatal words "_Avada Kedavra_!" and managed to raise a new protective charm just in time. The green light of the deadly spell dashed against his shield and blinded him for a heartbeat, then its power lessened and vanished.

He heard his uncle swear and prepared himself to retaliate, possibly to personally use the killing curse for the first time. His thoughts were interrupted by a loud snarl from behind his attacker. A moment later, a black cat jumped on the man's back, climbed onto his shoulders and raked deep gouges into his face. Screaming in shock and pain, Lestrange staggered backwards, stumbled and hit the wall of another house, trying to peel off the furious little animal, but it had climbed to his head, its claws holding its perch on the man's scalp with bloody results. Draco could only stare for a moment, then he caught the gaze of the cat – a gaze from green eyes, which seemed to gleam in an own unholy light. The cat bared its razor-sharp fangs and meowed harshly at him as if it wanted to tell him something, then repeatedly sank its teeth into the nape of the Death Eater. Rabastan's screams echoed off the buildings around them

For a moment Malfoy thought to finish his uncle off, but then he heard running steps approaching. He would instead pursue another purpose: find his Head-partner. Inwardly thanking the cat for its strange but welcome help, he turned and ran down the alley. He heard the shrill voice of Hermione Granger screaming at someone to let her go, and another deep hoarse voice laughed in cruel mockery…

TBC…

_Yes, I know, another Cliff-hanger. I am just soooo mean (laugh)._

_Next chapter will not only make Draco facing Greyback and is going to show how much our Slytherin has inwardly changed, but there will also be a fateful meeting. I don't want to tell you more in the moment, but I do think you're going to love it (especially how Draco tries to save his Head-partner and his reactions)._

_I hope you liked the last part, the action and the characters, and therefore please, please, please leave some reviews._

_I wish you a nice week,_

_Love you all,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	22. Ancient Evil

_Hallo, my dear Readers,_

_A Happy New Year for you all and may everything, you are wishing for, come true._ _I'm back from holidays (yeah, clear regarding the update) and – as promised – here is the edited and corrected replacement of chapter 21. _

_Please read it, because it really is better, and – at the end – I used an Arabian description for unworthy people, like a translation for 'Mudbloods'. In the case that someone of you knows the Arabian language, I would be very, very happy to learn, if this phrase is correct, or if you know the correct word that is used in Mrs. Rowling's book for it._

_And now: Enjoy!_

_Have a nice start in the new year,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 21 – Ancient Evil**

Hermione ran faster than she ever had in her life. The moment she realized who the putative wizard from Hogsmeade was, her instincts took over. Firing a spell at him, she shoved Gillian away, screamed at her to flee, and then ran the other direction, knowing that the werewolf would chase after her rather than after Gillian. She had been right – and everything she'd learned about his kind in Lupin's DADA class (assigned by Snape) were proven right, too. The spell had barely slowed him down. Werewolves were almost impervious to magic, especially one as old and experienced as Fenrir Greyback. In addition, his consumption of human flesh even when not a full moon resulted in his development into a true monster, feeding the curse that he bore with such pride and relish. Hermione knew that she didn't stand a candle's chance in a hurricane against him, and sprinted down the alley as fast as she could. But he was closing in, and she was horrified. She rounded a corner, darting a look about her, hoping for anyone to help her, but the raid of the Death Eaters had driven the villagers from the streets of Hogsmeade, with fighting only in sporadic areas.

And then she felt it, the pressure in her mind – a pressure the same as last evening. Someone was invading her mind! No! She felt that someone was looking through her eyes, and as she heard the quick steps directly behind her, she threw a glance over her shoulder, seeing Greyback only a few meters behind. Then she heard the words deep inside her soul, in the familiar voice, _'Hold on, I'm coming!'_

_It was Malfoy! _She nearly cried out in surprise and hope.

She knew it was he, but before she could begin to comprehend what had just happened, a hard shove at her back made her stumble, and two strong arms caught her before she fell. The connection had broken. Instantly she struggled, throwing her head back to strike him on the nose, but Greyback just turned his head away and chortled, lifting her off her feet, pressing her hard against him. "Got you, my girl!" he growled, tightening his grip around her. "Fight as hard as you want. I _love_ it when they squirm!" The stench of his breath made her gag.

For a moment Hermione panicked. She couldn't break free, she couldn't fight, she was completely in his power. She wriggled and reared back, kicking and screaming, even though it was completely useless. She felt his hot breath on her skin, as he lowered his head and spoke into her hair. "We'll have a nice time, you 'n' me, pretty thing. I know a nice quiet place for us. And if'n yer any good, I'll keep you alive jus' a little bit longer."

Sickened, frightened out of her mind that he would disapparate with her to God-knew-where, Hermione screeched again, kicked backwards, turned her head to bite one of his hands clamped onto her shoulder. She had to keep his mind distracted from the focus needed for the disapparation. Draco was on his way. He'd said so, and she had to occupy her attacker until he arrived, keep his concentration away from his destination, or she would never see her friends or parents – or anyone – ever again.

Greyback laughed again. "You like it rough, girlie? No problem. I like it that way, too. I do think we'll both have a lot of-"

He stopped, glanced up and stared ahead, growling menacingly. Hermione, following his gaze, sobbed in relief, seeing the tall figure in the billowing coat at the next corner, grey eyes narrowed, pale face grim, wand raised. Draco Malfoy.

Fenrir chuckled quietly. "Comin' to play the hero now, boy?" he mocked, increasing the pressure on the girl in his arms. She could barely breathe.

The Slytherin was breathing hard. He had recognized the alley Hermione was running through, and had raced to her and Greyback as quickly as he could, hoping to reach her before the werewolf could caught her, but he was too late. And seeing her struggling desperately in the grip of Greyback nearly drove the young man mad, inspiring unfamiliar emotions and a resolute possessiveness somewhere under his sternum. "Let her go!" he demanded, his voice firm and authoritative. He would rescue her, at any cost – if only for the opportunity to shake some sense in her! _Playing 'catch me' with Greyback! She was insane!_

Fenrir blinked in surprise. Where was that half-grown boy, too afraid to even raise his voice? Before him stood a young man – proud, determined, and irrationally brave. "Not this one, little Malfoy minor!" he snarled, digging his claws into Hermione's arm and shoulder, making her gasp in pain and lack of breath.

Draco saw it, heard it, and stepped toward the captor and captive, his former enmity with her forgotten. Too well he had come to know her to see anything other than a girl – a girl who was well under his pale pureblood skin. "You _will_ let her go. And perhaps I will spare your life!"

For a long moment Greyback stared at him, then he barked a laugh again. "As if you had the guts to perform the unforgivable curse!"

Draco's eyes narrowed. If he had to kill this ... thing, he would do it. It wouldn't be murder , even if he did take a life. Greyback had been losing elements of his humanity for decades now. Like Voldemort had disintegrated with the creation of his many horcruxes, Greyback's appearance now retained much of the beast he shared his life and thoughts with. _It would be like shooting a mad dog. He would do the world a favour by eliminating this monster_. "Give me a reason!" he snarled.

Something in the eyes of the young wizard told the werewolf that he might be in serious trouble; that Draco surely _would_ kill him. He again considered briefly that every human being could be pushed far enough to do take another life. _For one that they cared about_. Hmm. He cocked his head and bent down to Hermione's face, sniffling at her. He smelled her scent beneath the sweat and grime, and more. Her blood and flesh were calling to him with their own salty sweetness, made his mouth water, while the male part in him burned with hunger of another kind. "Got a new protector, my sweet, didn't yeh?" he purred and licked along her jaw.

Hermione felt her gorge rise yet again, pressing her eyes shut in disgust. And then she yelped as he suddenly shoved one clawed hand in her hair, yanked her head to the side and bared her neck; his hot stinking breath over the pulse that beat triple time in a new panic.

"Put your wand away, Malfoy, and step back – or your little minx here will die now!" he snarled, baring his sharp teeth in an all too clear intention.

Draco was frozen to the spot as he realized what Greyback would do if he not obeyed - tear out Granger's throat. He quickly put aside the urge to run over and simply drag her out of the monster's arms. He had to defuse the situation, to make certain this imitation human wouldn't snap and hurt her. "You can't escape, Greyback, and you know it. Let her go, and I let you go!" He sounded more certain than he felt, but the werewolf would have nothing of it, smelling his fear and rising uncertainty.

"Drop your wand and step back, boy. It's the last time I'll say it!" The growling sound in his voice betrayed the rising beast in him. It was only four days away from the next full moon, the werewolf in him was emerging. And with prey in his arms, it showed itself with gleaming yellow eyes and saliva that dripped from its teeth

Hermione whimpered as she felt the fangs grazing her skin, her heart beat like that of a trapped bird. She looked at Draco, the sight of him blurred by her tears. Only once before had she felt as helpless and vulnerable as she did now – under the none-so-gentle ministrations of Bellatrix Lestrange. And again she could see her school mate. But this time he didn't look away, but stood ready to fight for her. She could feel the scrape of Greyback's nails tearing at her scalp, while his mouth closed over her neck – not to bring pleasure, but to kill. Malfoy's name, his first name, escaped her in a sob, pleading for help. "Draco!"

Petrified, Draco watched the werewolf was about to carry out his threat, the eyes of Hermione Granger, begging him as they had in the dining room of Malfoy-Manor. It was too much. "Okay!" he screamed. "Okay, Greyback, I'll put it down!" Slowly, eyes never leaving the werewolf, he crouched down, his left hand raised, his right placing the wand on the ground at his feet.

Fenrir grinned and nodded. "Step back!" he ordered, and Hermione saw that Malfoy obeyed again. She was losing hope. Greyback would disapparate with her, taking her where no one would find her, would have his way with her and would kill her afterwards. The prospect of what lay ahead drove her to act again in desperation. She reared up, kicking, trying to break his concentration, but Greyback held her with ease.

"Not so impatient, my sweet, we'll be on our way in no time," the hoarse voice at her ear whispered, before the beast in human form called: "Say 'good bye' to your Mudblood, little Malfoy. I don't think you'll be seeing her again!"

Draco stepped forward again, wishing for the very first time in his life that Potter would appear from somewhere and do what he was so famous for: saving the day. _'Hurry up, Potty! After all you did, you CAN'T fail now!'_ Realizing that the werewolf took his move as a threat, he lifted both hands, trying to buy some time. "I'm wandless now. Could you be afraid of an unarmed student?"

Fenrir bared his teeth again. "Do you think me stupid, boy? I know that your father started to teach you wandless magic. I won't take the risk. Stay where you are, or-"

A loud wail tore the air – long, deep frightening – the howl so much like that of a beast. Greyback straightened instantly, his eyes darting about him as the animal in him reacted to the undeniable challenge. Again the keening, and even Hermione knew that it wasn't the sound of a wolf or a dog. Draco had whirled, searching the area. The next wail seemed to echo from every surface, for a moment the whole village was silenced. Then he turned to face his partner. They both knew this sound. They'd heard it before – in the Forbidden Forest.

Hermione saw her recognition mirrored in Malfoy's eyes. And something else: Greyback was trembling. His breathing was short, but when she turned her head to glare up at him, she saw an ancient angst in his darting eyes. He retreated one step, pulling her with him, and Hogwarts' Head-Girl was about to make another attempt to break his grip, when Fenrir stifled an outcry.

Directing her attention back to Draco, she saw the shadows growing behind him, congealing into that impenetrable black that swallowed the colours around it. And then the black mist became a solid shape, a body, and a moment later it came trotting toward them on four impossibly long legs. Flaming yellow eyes stood out against the black fur, long pointed ears extended from a slender skull with a long snout. Powerful paws barely met the ground. It stopped directly beside the Slytherin-Prince, its back high as his waist. The whole world seemed to freeze and time went still. Hermione gaped at what had to be the largest jackal that ever lived.

Draco was horrified, his mind and body captured by the vision. He had seen those creatures only in books and once in a museum when he was younger. He had seen pictures, statues of this form, lying on altars in large graves in a faraway land, or standing guard before entrances into tombs, and he had seen this head placed on a human body, representing an ancient god. But this could not be real. It didn't belong in the world of living, it shouldn't be here. It was ... wrong!

He sensed the immortal eternity, old as time itself. He knew, what – or better _who_ – stood beside him. The power that radiated of the creature in invisible mighty waves was unmistakable and made him dizzy. "Anubis," he whispered, and for a moment the unearthly flaming eyes caught his gaze, their glance seemed to plunge straight into his soul and left there a burning, before yellow orbs turned back to the werewolf and the captured girl.

Greyback made a sound that was between a whimper and growl, his eyes narrowed and flickered with fright and hatred. He wanted to recoil from the presence in front of him, his instincts telling him what and who it was, but his mind had shut down; the werewolf in him was taking over control, and howled in fear.

Gulping, Draco lifted his glance from the dog-shaped creature beside him to Hermione, whose look was also fixed on the being. He didn't know if this ancient god had come to aid them or attack them. The hellish yellow eyes were only directed at Greyback. A dangerous, unearthly growl emerged from its throat, the sound of hundred granite stones moving in an ancient graveyard. It took another step toward the werewolf, snarling, baring long, sharp, white fangs.

Fenrir writhed now, but still stood his ground. "Get thee hence, blasted hound!" he cried, sounding hysterical, the beast in him nearly mad.

This was a signal, because the jackal howled again and crouched, ready to attack, its fur standing upright on its back. The howl reached every corner, every niche in town, made the window glass tremble, drowning out all other sounds. Shadows seemed to creep from everywhere towards the jackal, as if it had called them, and they had no other choice than to obey, enveloping it.

Finally breaking, Greyback shoved Hermione away from him with an inhuman roar, whirled and fled. It was the signal the jackal seemed to have waited for. It darted forwards, leaping over the fallen figure of the girl and pursued the running werewolf – hunter becoming the hunted.

Hermione had fallen, rolling herself into a small heap as the jackal jumped over her, vanishing after Greyback somewhere down the street in the smoke of a burning cottage. Closing her eyes she tried to hold tears back, but she was too shaken. And then strong hands pulled her gently to a sitting position. When she looked up, she saw the pale face of Malfoy. "Are you all right?" he panted, and pulled her to him before she could answer, pressing her into him. And for right now, it felt alright. Instinctively she relaxed against him, smelling cologne, smoke, sweat, wool. She felt his long arms about her, and her sobs came, hardly believing that it was over and that she was safe – safe with _him_!

Malfoy sighed and held her, relief washing over him. He knew what was happening. He knew exactly why her integrity was so important all of sudden, why he was willing to risk his life for her. He knew the answer to all those questions his Malfoy-blood was screaming at him, and why he'd behaved so uncharacteristically, seeing this particular witch in mortal danger. He knew there was more going on than life debt. And he was too scared to put it into words, knowing it would change everything.

But the moment he closed his arms around her now, felt her body next his and her hair under his chin, something too powerful to ignore spread through him. She was alive and well, nothing else mattered – not even the weakening voice berating him in the back of his mind. Burying his face in her curls, he breathed the familiar smell of her shampoo. He felt her heart beating next to his, still too quick, and he closed his eyes, while the first tension left his body and soul.

Then his mood changed.

With the knowledge that she was out of danger, his anger returned. Taking her by the shoulders, he looked at her and hissed: "Damn it, Granger, have you lost your little Gryffindor mind? First you play with a fully transformed werewolf, and today you play 'catch me' with _Greyback_!"

She looked up at him, her large eyes wet and confused. "Gillian … she would have never been able to…"

"Do you ever think of your own safety?" he raged. "Blast it, girl, when did you switch off your oversized brain?" No, these were not the words his soul was shouting, but at the moment, he was only furious at her carelessness ... that he came so close to losing her.

Swallowing, she bit her lips. "I thought I ... I ... might be able to ... to trick him," she finally whispered, looking up into his stormy grey eyes.

"He can _smell_ you, Granger, from a considerable distance, it seems! You're his favourite prey, and the biggest part of him is a wolf. You _can't_ escape him if he catches your scent! That's normal for his kind!" he yelled, then closed his eyes in an attempt to regain some control over his swirling emotions, a mixture of frustration, irritation and cold fear. "We learned about werewolves in our third year, and Snape and Dumbledore told you about their other 'urges'. How could you ignore that?" He fixed his gaze on hers once again, then his expression softened when he saw the tear tracks on her dirty cheeks. The lioness of Gryffindor truly was a kitten, and he couldn't stand to see her so upset. He brushed a tear away, murmuring, "Wraiths and wreckage, Granger, you're going to be the death of me someday!" His lips touched her temple for a second.

Hermione, still recovering, sniffled loudly and allowed herself to rest her head against his shoulder, feeling peace enveloping her as his mouth brushed her skin. And as he wrapped his open coat around her, she felt the terror and tension leaving her. She felt secure, and her spiralling mind and heart craved it like a starving man needed food. Then she heard the noise of the fights in the other streets were changing, and she the cracks of new apparations – obviously Hogsmeade was getting help.

Help…

"Who … what was that dog?" she whispered.

Draco shuddered at the memory of his proximity to the immortal being. "Dog?" he asked hoarsely. "That was no dog, Granger, it wasn't even a real jackal or a wolf. I'd give my right hand, if it wasn't-"

The sound of hurrying footsteps drew closer, and they rose and turned, he picked up the wand with one smooth movement, holding Hermione firmly at his side, not willing to let go of her. The possessive instinct his family was well known for was loose in his veins, ready to protect her against everything and everyone. He sighed in relief and resignation, seeing the fiery red and tousled black heads of the two he'd wished for earlier, but now devoutly wished hadn't come: Ron Weasley and Harry Potter.

Harry's cheek was scratched, his face a mask of grime and a lens in his glasses cracked, his shoulder still bloody. He called to the two senior students as he approached, out of breath. "Hermione! Malfoy, what happened? You okay, Mione?" He reached out for her, worry all over his features.

Ron reached them, too, panting, concerned and angry. "Mione, are you all right? We heard a howling coming from here and…" He stared at his old enemy, his face darkening. "I do think that's just a bit close, Malfoy!"

Hermione looked up but had not the strength to pull away from the Slytherin. The arm wrapped about her was the only thing that kept her on her feet, while his presence comforted her. She knew that she would have a breakdown if forced to leave him now. Her instincts were still at work, and they told her that she was safe, wherever he was. Swallowing the ugly taste of bile, she whispered: "I'm okay."

"Did Greyback…" Harry started, but Malfoy interrupted him.

"He caught her, but she's unharmed." He didn't want her to have to tell her story right now. His fine senses felt her turmoil.

Hermione closed her eyes. Sighing, she leaned her head on his shoulder, resisting the urge to snuggle and bury her face in his chest. She didn't understand her impulse to be near him – him, who insulted, threatened and betrayed her trust only hours ago – but this felt right.

"Where is that abomination?" Potter demanded, wrath in his eyes. He knew the girl, who was dear as a sister to him, was near a collapse, and he wanted to make that monster pay for it.

"He was chased away," Draco answered.

"By whom? _You_?" Ron snapped, disbelieving. Glaring again at the girl who leaned so heavily against an enemy, he carefully clasped one of her arms and pulled gently. "Come with me, Mione, you're safe now."

"I _am_ safe!" she whispered back, not leaving her Head-partner, who suddenly tightened the embrace and glared daggers at the other young wizard. She needed him! His fierce little Gryffindor _needed_ him, and he would not give into the behaviour of this foolish weasel!

Ron's eyes narrowed, face reddened with anger. _She was safe? With __Malfoy__?_ And… didn't she just return that git's embrace? Jealousy so intense it left him breathless spread through him. "Hermione, you…"

A loud triple crack and three wizards emerged, wearing the robes of aurors. In an instant they were surrounded, but one of them cried: "That's Harry Potter!" pointing at the lightning scar.

"And Ronald Weasley!" another one reported, stepping forward. "Glory and gaters, are you four all right?" His blue eyes took in Draco and Hermione and stiffened. "The young Malfoy," he stated, assessing him with an unreadable expression. "In the middle of an attack by Death Eaters! Interesting!"

His tone alarmed Hermione, and she straightened. "He saved my life," she told the auror, and the man eyed her shortly, before recognition reached his face.

"Miss Granger, right?" She nodded slowly, still ready to step between Malfoy and the auror. Something told her that this wizard had no kind intentions concerning her rescuer. The man, somewhere in his forties, smiled and offered her his hand. "Hank Trees, we met last summer after the Battle of Hogwarts," he introduced himself, while another auror turned to Harry, who had picked up Hermione's wand which had fallen when Greyback shoved her to the ground. "Why are you here and not back in school? All the students are already there now and…"

Down another street, new spells erupted, then enraged screams and yelling. "They found some more!" the third auror said to his comrades with a grin, then he turned to the students. "All right, you four, we'll take you to Hogwarts. You'll probably have to answer some questions."

And just that moment, not far away, two paths crossed ...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rabastan Lestrange shook with fury, his face was dark with rage. _How could this happen? How could that Malfoy traitor, Potter and the Weasleys escape? HOW?_ They'd had them literally in their hands! Lucius' little white clone should be dead. The killing curse had been executed perfectly. Then that filthy, little Mudblood ruined everything, tackling the coward boy to the ground. He'd seen how this girl, who had no right to their powers and privileges, helped the Malfoy-spawn over and over again – and how he, in return, held her close and protected her. Disgusting! So, Draco not only betrayed the Dark Lord, he was also friend to a Muggle-born witch. The shame was choking. For this alone, that boy had to die!

And then, he was attacked by a cat! _A bloody cat!_ He'd never heard of a cat behaving like that, but he didn't give a damn about reasons. He was bleeding all over, and would have scars if not treated soon. He heard the arrival of the apparating aurors. He'd gripped the four-legged nightmare and hurled the little monster away and fled – down the streets and then into an abandoned shop, using a disillusionment charm to avoid attention.

He found the small deserted water closet. There was a porcelain sink, a mirror, a toilet and some cleaning supplies. He surveyed the damage from the razor claws in the mirror. His whole face was sliced. There were at least a dozen puncture wounds in his scalp and he was bleeding heavily, and the back of his neck felt like a hamburger. With a trembling hand, he pointed his own wand at his face and whispered a healing spell, but his mind was too troubled to concentrate, and he merely slowed the bleeding. With a shout of fury and frustration, he struck his fist on the sink – now his left hand and arm hurt as well.

"Accursed cat! Damn little traitor! I'll get you and your miserable parents, and…"

There was a movement in the mirror and he whirled around, a killing-spell in his throat. But he hesitated when he saw a young girl on the brink of womanhood casually leaning against the doorframe, her long black/brown hair and her olive coloured skin betrayed her middle-eastern descent. Her large dark eyes looked at him with a coolness that confused him. She had to be one of Hogwarts' students, had to know that he was a Death Eater. She should be screaming in panic and running, but she simply watched him with one delicate brow lifted. He had to admit that she was truly a beauty. Maybe a little young for his taste, but he wouldn't turn her away, if the circumstances were different.

"I venture to say it was a black cat," were her first words. Her voice was low and warm and softly accented. When he didn't answer, she moved toward him, lifting her empty hand as he pointed his wand at her. "I have knowledge how to heal those wounds. Your magic will not help, I know of which I speak. It was no ordinary cat that attacked you."

"What could you know about it?" he hissed, his eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

A mystifying smile touched her full lips, but didn't reach her eyes. "A friend," she replied and stopped as the point of his wand was aimed at her face.

"A friend? Friend of a Death Eater? There is no such thing!" he growled. He was in no mood for silly girls. He was in pain, defeated by an eighteen-year-old boy, a Mudblood and a _cat!_

The girl in front of him remained unconcerned, as if it were the most natural thing to exchange small talk with a strange bleeding man in a restroom. "True, I am not a friend of your ... little faction, but we share the same belief that our world belongs to the wizards. Your lord may have failed, but there are still ... others." She nodded towards his face. "Let me correct that for you. Your healers will not be able to mend it properly."

Rabastan sneered, his senses on alert, anger still boiling in his veins. "What are you playing at? Go away, girl. I'll let you go, but next time-"

He suddenly found himself hoisted into the air and smashed hard against the mirror, which shattered. He felt a dozen shards pierce his clothes, slicing his back, making him cry out in pain. He fell like a rag doll onto the sink. It separated from the wall and fell with him to the floor. Before he could raise his wand, it was ripped from his hand, he was lifted again and forced against the wall, driving the shards deeper. His feet dangled inches from the floor, and the pressure against his chest made it hard to breathe. Stars were appearing before his eyes and the room was growing dark, then his sight cleared and he was able to take small breaths. The girl stood before him, simply pointing her wand at him. No sound came from her lips, but her eyes had gone small and shimmered like granite.

"Listen very closely to what I tell you. I may be young in your eyes, but the power I wield is now old. Very old! And the one who bestowed it upon me and those before me will show gratitude to those who work to fulfil his prophecy and his demands. Your Lord Voldemort may have been a mighty wizard, but he was _nothing_ compared to the one who will rise again. For over three thousand years he has waited to return. The time is at hand when he will remove those who do not belong, and will show them, the _inbu 'l-ghabi_ (Arabian word for a no-body, an upstart), who truly rules the world. You and your fellows will help to make his way straight to the land of the living."

Rabastan, who felt like he was about to be strangled, coughed. "Why should I help you?" he rasped. "Why should I help to bring a wizard back who would take my place?"

The girl stared at him – then laughed. A youthful, clear sound, but somewhere, beneath it there was a second voice, low and strange, like an echo from another being. "_Your_ place?" Cold amusement glittered in her hard beautiful eyes. "You may lead your little assembly, but you are a child compared to him. Ruling the world takes more than a strong will and some dark tricks up your sleeve. You must be born to it, to know more than all others, and wield more power than anyone else without hesitation. He had this, and will have it again. The darkness was before the light. Even your myths say so. Aphopis was and is the beginning and the end of the darkness, the god of the night and the only one that Re, god of the sun, feared."

She tossed her head, and the dark hair rippled. "I am chosen as his tool, chosen to fulfil his wishes and the chosen one who will help him to fulfil his task. He will walk on earth to defeat the light. He will return – and you and your fellows will help this to happen." Her voice had now an edge of passion, her eyes flamed like those of Bellatrix, his sister-in-law. The girl pointed her free hand at him. "I, his living descendent, blood of his blood, demand that you repay an old debt one of your greatest wizards owes to him and those who are still loyal to him!"

Lestrange, who no longer felt the scratches and bites, but struggled for every breath, snorted: "I do not pay debts of other wizards, mighty or not, nor-"

"You WILL! Even your Dark Lord belonged to his regime and owed his skills and his ideas his great spirit. Your loyalty to his house still stands, otherwise not Voldemort nor you nor your fellows would have acquired his ideals and fought for them until this day and, dare I say, continue to battle for them." She flicked her wand, and Rabastan landed on his feet, but still was unable to move; the pain his back and face were growing. At least, the murderous pressure on his throat had vanished, and he gasped deeply.

"Of whom do you speak?" he asked, hiding his nervousness. This witch may be young, but her power was the strongest he'd seen since the Dark Lord.

The oriental girl smiled again: "Salazar Slytherin." She saw the eyes of the man widening and added: "He travelled to my country after the dispute with the other three founders, and was no longer welcome on this island. There he met our circle and was welcomed, after we realized his ambitions. He was caught by Muggle priests, and was about to die when we helped him to escape. He promised to pay his debt and left Egypt, taking something with him our leader had entrusted to his care, for it was no longer safe in our country." She looked at her captive closely. "And now the day has arrived in which that debt must be paid. You have been a member of his house, and you stand for the same ideals as Slytherin. I require your support, and you and your fellows will be free and safe afterwards. The _inbu 'l-ghabi_ - those you call Muggle-borns - will no longer interfere in our world and those who place themselves over you as judges will be punished." Her gaze had wandered, and now returned to his eyes, almost burning him. "Refuse and you will not leave this place alive, for I have too much to lose to let you roam free, knowing my purpose. Agree and you will be released, and well paid, after _he_ returns."

Lestrange could only stare at her, his mind reeling. Another powerful wizard to rule the world, to give the Purebloods their status, and to depose the Muggle-borns, not allowing them into their realm? A wizard who had even more power than the Dark Lord? It sounded too good to be true. "How do I know you speak the truth?" he asked slowly, risking her anger. "How do I know that you're serious?"

"Serious?" she sneered, "A strange question for a man like you." She lifted her wand and whispered something. For a moment his face and his back burned and he yelped, then, suddenly, the pain was gone. He fingered his cheek. It was no longer torn and bloody, but smooth and healed. And he knew without checking that his back and neck were healed, too. The glassy splinters upon which had been impaled tinkled down around his feet.

"Take this for a symbol of my 'seriousness'," the strange witch said. "Now go and find your fellows. You will hear from me again. Tell them of me, and be certain that they will listen to me."

It was laughable. There stood this mere slip of a thing, ordering him around. Ordinarily, he would simply kill her, or capture her for other uses, but something told him that he wouldn't stand a chance against her. There was an authority in her eyes and voice stronger than anything else he'd ever felt. There was a supremacy, so dark and ancient, he didn't wish to provoke any kind of retaliation. He licked his dry lips. "I need more information, and you will have to answer the questions of my fellows. Then we'll decide," he said replied, his voice stern, his heart quavering.

She nodded slowly, as if expecting just that. "Well spoken. You will hear from me again. Be ready to meet me outside of the school's gate within the next days." She stepped backwards, not taking her eyes from him.

"How do you expect to get out of Hogwarts?" He cocked his head, feeling a touch more confident now that he could move again. "You are a student there, aren't you?"

"I am – for now. And how I get out of this school is my concern." She nodded and vanished, leaving behind a very confused and irritated Rabastan Lestrange, who waited a moment, then disapparated.

TBC…

_Well, I do hope you enjoyed the edited chapter. And now: Up to chappi 22 – where a small historical event starts (Draco and Harry are starting to work together) and Ron realizes that there could be more between Hermione and Malfoy than a 'simple' life-dept._

_Love you all,_

_Lywhn _


	23. Hurt

_Hi, my dear Readers,_

_For those, who clicked at the newest edition of this story: please note that the edited chapter 21 is online now, too. And I really advise you to re-read it – not only to find back into the storyline, but also the beta-read part is better and explains several things more. _

_For those, who already read the edited last part: I don't want to let you wait any longer: Have fun._

_Love and – once again – a Happy New Year,_

_Y__ours Lywhn_

**Chapter 22 – Hurt**

"No, you will stay where you are, Mr. Potter! That shoulder has to be fixed without you being half on your way to Merlin knows where." Madame Pomfrey looked down at Harry, who sat on an examination table in the crowded Hospital-wing.

"To Professor McGonagall's office is the place only 'Merlin knows where'," the young man replied, biting back another yelp as the healer touched his wounded shoulder with her wand again, then applied the dittany.

"The Headmistress and the aurors will have to wait," the iron-willed nurse answered resolutely. "I won't let you out of my clutches with a disabled shoulder." Again she flicked her wand, and Harry stifled a cry, grimacing. Sticks and stones, that _hurt_! "This must be treated properly, if you don't want to be disabled later. And no one can ever say that I dismissed one of my patients with a half-healed injury." Her stern face softened suddenly. "Patience, Harry. You'll be out of here in ten minutes, but only if you promise me you'll return if you feel any pain again. That wound was deep, and even if Professor Sprout and Slughorn did an excellent job of first aid, you still need a proper healing."

Sighing, the boy-who-lived (again) complied and looked around, trying to distract his thoughts. Most of the older students who had remained to fight the Death Eaters had bruises or wounds, but they had suffered no loss of life. When he'd learned that, a huge weight seemed to have lifted from his chest and shoulders. In the next bed lay Abdel, on his stomach. His back was torn and burned from the large splinter from the exploding house. It was covered with poultices by the very able Madame Pomfrey. He was still in pain, but he would soon be healed and he would move again with no difficulty. She had announced that he could rejoin his classes in a few days. Abdelghani sat with him, concern etched on his handsome face. The other older students returned to the school more-or-less unharmed. Luna had a bruise on her temple, but the unusual witch still wore her dreamy untroubled expression, talking with others from Ravenclaw. Further down the ward, two Slytherin-boys lay with the results of stunning spells.

All in all, they'd come off well, considering the mortal danger they had faced. The main question now was, how had the Death Eaters entered Hogsmeade without being recognized? If they had apparated into the middle of the village they would have been seen before they could attack. So, they could conclude that there was a follower of the Dark Lord and his survivors somewhere in Hogsmeade, and Harry had a pretty good idea who it was. He didn't know his name, but he was certain it was the werewolf that haunted the area, the one who prowled the territory around Hogwarts.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione dragged herself into their common room, exhausted and shaken, resisting the urge to break into tears as she thought back on the last hour ...

Several aurors had arrived in and around Hogsmeade when the alarm was sent: Hank Trees, deputy Head of the Auror's Office, Proudfood (a nickname, his real name unknown), who had been responsible for security at Hogwarts during 1996 and 1997 and very familiar with the small town, Williamson, another high ranking auror, and Gawain Robards, the temporary Head of the Auror Office, who still wore the scars of the Second Wizardry War and Voldemort's attack on the ministry. They met with students and residents immediately after the area was secured, and had asked her and the others about the details of the raid of Hogsmeade.

Everyone who cooperated had given the aurors as much information as possible, and Hermione learned at that time that Luna and Edis, who had carried Abdel, found Neriman and Layla not far away from the Hog's Head, but had lost them during their flight through the streets. Neriman, tired and distracted, reported that she got lost in the foreign village. Layla, who was surprisingly quiet, told the same story, and thanked Slughorn innocently again who found her and brought her back to Hogwarts.

Then Hermione told them about Aberforth Dumbledore's help, how they split up, and how she had been chased by Greyback, that he caught her, but the Head Boy saved her shortly before Ron and Harry found her. The youngest Weasley-son explained how they learned from a Hufflepuff-student of their friend being chased by the werewolf, and finally found her with Malfoy, shaken but unharmed.

She thanked Malfoy – in front of them all – for his bravery, while he, in return, voiced his gratitude for her impressive action in the alley. "I would be dead without you, Granger. Thank you, little Gryffindor," he'd said almost gently, while he had smiled at her – not a smirk, but a real smile that reached his blood-shot eyes. For a long moment they simply looked at each other. An incredulous McGonagall – who had heard Malfoy using a pet name for Hermione – brought them back to the present by clearing her throat.

The aurors thanked them and then the students were dismissed – all, except Draco. And Hermione had a bad feeling about it, since her partner still hadn't returned. She knew that the aurors would ask Draco more specific questions about the day's events because of his past, and she hoped that they would do it diplomatically. She knew the Slytherin was easily offended, and that a vulnerable person hid beneath that cold mask. She also felt like a traitor, leaving him behind instead of insisting she remain behind to support him.

He was not just her partner anymore. He had rescued her – again. He had saved her from a fate that – ugh, just thinking about it made her want to throw up. Leaving him to face those inquisitors alone gave her a bad conscience. Dismissed or not, but she should have insisted that she remain at his side, if only to show him that he wasn't alone, that someone cared!

Sighing, Hermione went to the bathroom, showered, shampooed her hair three times and dried herself with a spell. She cleaned the entire room so that it would be ready when Malfoy came to use it, then changed into her school robes. After all, today was Halloween, and she still had her duties to perform.

She walked back into the common room, Crookshanks at her heels, feeling her turmoil. There was a brief metallic knocking at the portrait door, and then the angry voice of the knight could be heard. "Take away your fist, young man, I am not a substitute doorbell!"

Hermione felt a welcome smile tugging at her lips and went to the door. There she found Ron and Ginny, both bathed and with wet hair, and Harry at their side. He'd cleaned up as well, but wore his arm in a sling, a bruise at his temple was all that was left of the deep scratch. "May we come in?" Ginny asked.

"Of course!" Hermione laughed, glad to see them, and invited her friends in.

It was the first they'd seen the Head-Students' dormitory. Ron whistled and clicked his tongue. "Well, being Head-Student has its perks, I see!"

"And I thought the Gryffindor tower was luxury," Harry commented, turning to take in his surroundings. He knelt to greet Crookshanks, who meowed and rubbed himself on Harry's leg.

"Where is your room, Mione?" Ginny piped up and her friend pointed straight ahead.

"There, up those stairs. Come on, I'll show you." She took Ginny's arm, then turned back. "Sorry, boys, but you can't come with us. School rule! Have a seat and make yourself comfortable. We'll be back soon."

Taking her advice, Ron and Harry made themselves at home on the maroon sofa, eying the green and silver, burgundy and golden tapestries on the walls. "And I thought red and green matched," Ron grumbled, looking with disgust at the green amenities right beside the maroon ones.

Harry shrugged and ruffled Crookshanks' fur. "The colours do match, only the houses they represent don't." He looked at the silver parts of the wall and pursed his lips. "I'm certain, McGonagall and Dumbledore chose those two on purpose."

"Yeah, and risking Hermione's well-being in the process," Ronald growled.

"Malfoy isn't stupid enough to do anything serious," Harry replied reassuring. "And don't forget – he just saved her life the second time."

Ron frowned. "Yeah, he's pretty good at being in the right place at the right time and acting the hero. But I sure don't trust that snake."

Sighing, Harry leaned back. "I don't trust him either, Ron, but you have to admit that he's different. Who could have guessed that Draco Malfoy would stay and fight instead of hiding in safety?" He glanced at his friend. "He fought alongside us and-"

"- and hurled a spell at the Death Eater who hit you with that," Ron snorted, nodding at Harry's shoulder.

The green eyes behind the spectacles widened. "He did?"

"Yeah!"

Now it was Potter who whistled. "Either that life debt took effect, or he's taking his second chance more seriously than I gave him credit for."

Minutes later, the girls returned and Ginny exclaimed excitedly, "You should see her room – it's gorgeous! And the bathroom! Dolphins playing in the window, a shower large enough for an entire Quidditch team, a pool you can swim in and marble everywhere! Harry, Ron, if the Prefects' bathroom is a sight to remember, then you have got to see this one!" She sat on the sofa between the boys.

Ron stared at her. "I thought the Prefects' bathroom was pretty impressive … '_large enough for the Quidditch team_'?" he repeated. "How am I supposed to take that?" He was shocked, angry.

Hermione blinked, bewildered. "What do you mean?"

"This bathroom is for one person, right?"

"Yes, more or less. Malfoy and I share it, and…" Taken aback, she saw his look of disappointed accusation. "See, what I meant was that the bathroom was built to offer luxury for _two_ persons!" He huffed. "We made a schedule, who uses it first and how long. Who goes last. What is the _matter_ with you?" Hermione couldn't tell what was running through her boyfriend's head.

"And both your quarters open to the same bathroom?" Ron hissed, rising. "How can you be sure that that animal isn't spying on you, or-"

"Locking and sealing charms, Ron! Do you think I'm as brainless as all that?" The Head Girl moaned, finally understanding the reason for Ron's high dudgeon. "We've lived like that for two months now, so calm down!"

"'Calm down'? How can you say that? We're talking about _Malfoy_ here, and-"

"And he has shown far more decency than _you_ are assuming," Hermione snapped. They were facing each other now. "He values his privacy and he also respects mine!"

"Are you sure? We all know that he learned a few tricks from the Dark Arts, and-"

"Ron, Hermione, enough!" Harry interrupted, hoping to halt a full-blown feud like he'd lived through before. "You're squabbling about inanities. Ron, you know Hermione is far too clever to allow Malfoy a chance to spy on her. And we didn't come here to discuss her living arrangements. After all, she's the one who's had to endure his company for eight weeks now. It looks like both are not only still alive but, it seems, have developed a tendency to _rescue_ each other." He leaned forwards, scratching the protesting half-Kneazle behind the ears. "Hermione, why did Greyback take off like that?" He deftly changed the subject to the one he and the siblings had come to discuss.

"Did it have something to do with the howling we heard?" Ron asked. He knew he was being absurd, but jealously gnawed at him. Something wasn't right here. He felt it. That royal stinker Malfoy, of all people, risked his neck for Hermione, who was dirt in his eyes. While she, on the other hand, acted like a lioness with her cub whenever she saw him about to get into trouble. He remembered what she'd said in the Headmaster's office, as she stood proudly beside Malfoy, defending him, concerned about him. Anger stirred beneath his . _He'd eat his broomstick if this was truly because of that blasted 'life debt' obligation!_

Because the ottoman only held three people comfortably, Hermione leaned on the Slytherin ottoman armrest, ignoring Ron's look. For a moment she didn't speak, preparing to face the haunting memories, her hands clutched in front of her. Then, as they waited patiently for her to begin, knowing she had to do it, she quietly began:

"Malfoy found me just before Greyback was about to disapparate with me." She remembered how she felt when she saw his approaching figure again, a gleam of hope clad in black. "He demanded that Greyback let me go, but the monster threatened to tear my throat out if Malfoy didn't put his wand away." Gasps of shock, and quietly she continued: "Draco tried to convince him that he would let him go if Greyback freed me, but Greyback wouldn't hear of it. He …" she swallowed; the memory about to overwhelm her, "Greyback bared my neck and was about to bite me, so Draco had no other choice than to obey and drop his wand. It was right then that we heard the sound."

She stopped, and Harry cocked his head. If they'd been closer, he would have taken her hand in his for comfort. "What happened then, Hermione?" he asked gently, seeing how difficult it was for her to talk about it.

Taking a deep shaky breath, Hermione told them of the black dog, or jackal, or wolf that suddenly appeared out of the mist, larger than anything of its kind she ever saw, and how it frightened Greyback witless. She spoke of the hell-born fire in the eyes of the creature and how even the shadows seemed to obey its command. She finished with the words: "And then it raced after Greyback after he shoved me to the ground. Malfoy helped me up and then you came."

Harry, Ron and Ginny were silent. Then Ron whispered: "Scary!"

Hermione nodded. "Yes. It was suddenly there and …" She bit her lips, remembering only too well the deep pool of blackness the creature seemed to have made of – not the blackness she witnessed around the Death Eaters, but an almost peaceful darkness. It had awoken a deep fear in her, but certainly nothing compared to what her captor felt. Him _and_ the beast that hunted Malfoy and her during their very first patrol together. "I'm certain that it was the same creature that chased away the werewolf in the Forbidden Forest. Whatever it is: it has the power to scare Greyback half out of his mind."

"If he even has a mind left," murmured Ron thoughtfully.

"And it paused beside Malfoy?" Harry asked, watching his friend.

She nodded. "Yes, it materialized beside him. I noticed that its back was as high as Malfoy's waist , and you know how tall he is now. He was shaken, too, like I was." She rubbed her forehead, and tried to focus on the more important matter at hand now. "What is going on here? What is this animal? Why is it helping us? Why are _werewolves_ so afraid of it?"

Ginny looked thoughtful. "So you finally got a good look at it. What did it look like exactly?" she asked.

Hermione bit her lips. "I… I don't know anything for certain. I'm sure I was nearly mad with panic. It was large, too large for a wolf or a jackal. I remember seeing an Irish wolfhound that was nearly that size, but it definitely wasn't one of those. It…" She searched for words. "Its ears were a little bit too large for its narrow skull, its snout was long and slim as were its legs. It had a long tail and was all… black. Except for the eyes. They were like… like flames."

Harry took a very deep breath. "That sounds like you saw quite a bit, Mione. You do know what, or better whom, you are describing, don't you?" he asked quietly, looking straight at her.

Her eyes dropped. "Yes," she whispered. "Anubis in his animal form."

Ron frowned. "What? Hold it a moment! _Anubis_? The god of death? Buggers!"

His sister tossed a glare at him. "That would match what Harry, Mione and Malfoy witnessed the end of September. And if…"

She was interrupted by a noise at the portrait door, and as the four friends turned their heads, Draco Malfoy entered, still dirty and torn, eyes reddened, and weary. Seeing them, he stopped dead and frowned. "Last time I checked, this wasn't the Gryffindor common room," he said calmly and with controlled irritation. He looked paler than usual, a bitter turn to the corners of his mouth.

"What you're doin' here?" Ron snarled, and Hermione promptly rolled her eyes, moaning. Sometimes he could be so daft!

"I live here – in case you hadn't heard," the Slytherin-Prince sneered and closed the door.

His eyes, darker and hard, flicked toward his partner, when she asked, "Is everything … Are you all right?"

Ron looked sharply at her, hearing the concern in her voice – the same concern she'd always shown toward her best friends.

Draco felt mentally numb after the questions and the heated emotions he'd been through. He swallowed any revealing retorts and only nodded; not ready to show them anything – neither to her nor to her friends. "You and I are expected in the Great Hall at five PM to get the Halloween feast ready."

Hermione frowned. "They didn't cancel it?"

He sighed. "No, the show must go on. Mainly as a distraction for the younger students." He turned toward the stair which led to his room. "Not to press the issue, Granger, but this room is not for fraternity meetings." His tone betrayed his fatigue.

Ron opened his mouth to retort, but Harry was quicker, preventing so another combat. "Malfoy? Hermione told us about the jackal." He watched the other hesitate, then turn.

Crossing his arms, Draco lifted one brow. "So?"

"Hermione said she couldn't see how it got there, and didn't get a good look at it. Care to fill the missing parts?"

For a long moment grey and green were locked, then Malfoy replied: "It was there, it came to our aid, Greyback fled. That's all."

Hermione added: "You told me that it wasn't an ordinary dog or wolf. There was more to it – and I felt it, too." Her voice was gentle, and she looked at him with a mixture of expectation and hope. When he remained silent, she added: "It was the same creature that chased away the werewolf in the Forbidden Forest. It scared off _Greyback_. It was right beside you, so …?"

Draco sighed deeply, and she broke off. Rubbing the side of his face and looking rather defeated, he returned and dropped onto his sofa, before he saw that she was leaning on the armrest. "Sit down," he mumbled, and indicated the cushion beside him, gesturing to her to sit there. "I wouldn't want you to break anything." A smirk momentarily tugged at his mouth, and she simply stuck her tongue out at him, then he turned serious again. He saw the other three gaping at them, but ignored them and addressed instead Harry. "What do you think it was?"

Potter needed a moment to swallow the fact that Hermione and his old school enemy really seemed to be getting along, better than he ever thought, and that they handled each other with ease. Then he mentally shook himself and directed his thoughts back to the topic at hand. "What she described was the animal form of Anubis," he said, and watched the other carefully.

Draco nodded slowly. "Then she saw it, too." Four pairs of eyes stared at him, and he leaned forwards, leaning his elbows on his knees, and added warily: "I've been in the large Muggle museum in London. I saw the statues of this ancient god – in his human _and_ animal form. And I saw drawings of him in books in the Hogwarts library while doing research. Besides its appearance, there was something else that ... that doesn't belong in our world."

"The wizarding world or-" Ginny began.

Draco interrupted her softly, shaking his head. "No, Red, I mean the world of the living." He looked back at Harry. "I sensed a dark peace, a finality so relentless you couldn't miss it. It was 'death' itself – not the violent and cruel side, but the final rest the body will experience one day." He lowered his head, not knowing why he revealed his epiphany to Potter - of all people - but it felt good to unload the whole nerve wracking event, particularly with someone who had faced death in its different forms. "And there was this … this eternity. I can't find another word for it."

Ron blinked several times and glanced at Harry, finally speechless. Hermione gulped. "So, you felt that, too?" she cautiously asked her partner.

He nodded, fingers running through his dirty hair, still eyes fixed unfocused on the carpet by the sofa. "And he wasn't the only strange thing during that raid," he mumbled.

He could feel her sitting beside him, and Weasley's eyes burning holes in him. He didn't care what the weasel thought, but having her beside him was soothing to his troubled mind. It didn't slip his attention. After what had happened in Hogsmeade and in the Headmistress' Office, he only wanted peace and a little human warmth. The latter seemed to radiate in gentle waves from her soul, and he was sure, if he looked, he would see it mirrored in her large chocolate eyes.

"What do you mean?"

Her gentle voice brought him back to his situation in the common room, and again he couldn't resist sharing what happened those insane minutes in Hogsmeade. "Rabastan found me once again, just before I got to you," he replied quietly, lifting his head and looked at her. Alarm flickered in her eyes, fear for him and his safety. He was glad there was one human soul within these walls that cared what happened to him. "I was able to block his killing curse, and then, suddenly, a cat attacked him," he continued, pushing back the terror that came with the memory.

"A _cat_?" Harry wasn't sure he'd heard the other correctly.

Malfoy faced him again; strangely calm and without the usual aggression he had always shown. "Yes, a black one, with very long legs and a long, small skull – and with green, flaring eyes." He saw the look of recognition and lifted a brow. "Ring any bells, Potter?"

"The cat in the hallway – that one that tamed Mrs. Norris and almost caught you… us…" Hermione whispered. "It looked exactly like your helper and-" her look darted around, and the light came on, "Bastet!" she whispered.

"Hold it!" Ron lifted both hands. "Are you two – three – trying to say that this dog-wolf-jackal thing and that cat are … are _two ancient Egyptian gods_? Here, in _Hogsmeade_? At _Hogwarts_? Are you all mental?"

"Congratulations, Weasel, you puzzled it out!" Draco scoffed, glaring at Ron, who instantly stiffened and opened his mouth to continue the argument with the loathed Slytherin that begun years before, but Harry thwarted him.

"We can't be sure, not yet, that they're the real Anubis and Bastet. Maybe they're Animagis and simply took the animal forms of the gods who are the symbols of their houses."

Malfoy tilted his head, his red eyes thoughtful. "It wouldn't explain the strange forces that Granger and I felt, but I do think our 'guests' are the key to the riddle. Abdel was wounded and already on his way back to Hogwarts. Edis, Neriman and Layla got separated and two of them could have shifted into their Animagus form to help us."

"Oh yes! I remember that Neriman's fingernails were dirty, as if they had something underneath them, when we were questioned by McGonagall and the aurors," Hermione thought aloud. She looked up. "Dried blood?"

"If she is the black cat, then it certainly was dried blood. The little creature used Rabastan's face to sharpen its claws," Malfoy mused.

Harry grimaced. "Ouch!"

"Yeah! Who knew Rabastan could sing soprano?" the Slytherin mocked, then leaned back. "So, what do we do now?"

Hermione's and Ginny's eyes slid to each other, as if suddenly realizing the incongruity of the scene – sitting here together with _Draco bloody Malfoy_ and sharing insights with him. Usually he was on the other side ... Harry, too, was surprised by the choice of words. 'We'? Well, if Malfoy was serious, they could use all the help they could get. Harry cleared his throat. "This began when our Egyptian students arrived, so I think we need to know a lot more about them and their personal background. They're up to something, and if we want to know what they're planning, we need more information."

The Slytherin nodded. "Yes, that's right. We need to watch them more closely."

"We're already at it, but one pair more of keen eyes can't hurt," Harry agreed, looking at his old enemy expectantly.

Malfoy sat up straight, meeting Harry's eyes, recognizing an invitation – or challenge. He wasn't sure which one, but right now it didn't matter. Draco hated riddles to which he didn't know the answer. He wanted to find out what was happening here, and even more importantly, show these idiots from the Aurors' Department the true value of his family. _'Concerning your past…', 'Isn't it strange that your uncle was leading the raid and escaped after you faced him a second time, or so you say…' The authorities think they can use my presence in Hogsmeade to cover up their FAILURE to track down Rabastan and the others in time. 'Your second and last chance…' – my shiny black broomstick!' _he thought angrily, then flinched as soft fingers tentatively touched his hand.

"Malfoy?"

Hermione's gentle voice and the touch of her hand interrupted the tangent his mind was taking. Pulling himself back to the room, he looked at her. "Yeah?"

"Can you watch Abdel while I get closer to Neriman? Luna will do the same for Edis if we ask her. And about Layla, I thought our homesick little troublemaker could repay our help by observing her."

He heard her words, but they didn't reach his mind. He was distracted in a way that would have outraged him four weeks ago, but no more. She was so close. She was no more than a foot away, on _his_ sofa, the smell of her shampoo and soap, her own fresh sweetness, enfolded him, and his skin tingled where she had touched him. He cleared his throat when he realized that the four were waiting for his answer – and that they wanted him to join their 'project'. Was he really considering this? Could things get any more weird?

The answer came unbidden. "I will watch Abdel, if you think that will be useful. If you want to speak with Loony about her observing Edis, I have no problem with that, but do you think it wise to ask the pip? He's eleven, shy, and I don't think he can handle the job – especially, if our 'guests' are not as harmless as they appear."

The three on the Gryffindor sofa again gaped at the Head-Boy yet again. Did Draco Malfoy actually show concern about the Hufflepuff-boy? Was that git really taking responsibility for his fellow students, and not just faking it in the changing room? No way! He _had_ to be up to something. Ron could feel it in his bones.

Harry and Ginny looked at each other, no less surprised about the show of concern. What was happening to the old Malfoy?

Hermione was still glancing at Draco. "Because he is a small boy, Layla would not suspect him of watching her – if she is truly hiding something. He is far too innocent to be taken for a spy – and Phillip would have a new job that would keep him out of trouble. He wants to thank us, and this is his chance."

The grey eyes looked to the ceiling, then Malfoy snorted. "By all my means, speak with him. But warn him in no uncertain terms that he has to be careful and not act the hero. He can watch her, and if he thinks something is out of place, he must come to you or me and report. No more, no less!"

Groaning, Hermione saluted: "Aye, aye, Captain!" she said gruffly, then giggled. For the moment, she'd forgotten the horrors in Hogsmeade.

Her laughter lightened his heart. She was so beautiful when she laughed, her eyes gleaming with mirth, and…

WHAT?

He suddenly sat up straight. _Beautiful_? The bookworm with the rat's nest on her head?

By Salazar's knobbly wand, NO! This had to be a result of some bizarre spell from the fight. That was the only logical answer for the insanity that had suddenly befallen him. He couldn't remember getting hit on the head, but it was the only explanation ... But ... another quick look confirmed his earlier assessment, and he had used this word in his thoughts before. And when his eyes dropped to her soft mouth that still was curled in a smile, he felt the almost overwhelming urge to capture it with his own, to kiss her until they were both breathless.

As he realized his thoughts, something like shock and panic hit him. This was too much. They weren't alone and …

He rose quickly, it was getting too hot here in the room.

" 'scuse me, I'm going to the shower," he mumbled. "Can't stand the dirt a moment longer."

Hermione nodded. "Take your time," she said and leaned back. And the sight of her comfortable on the silver Slytherin-sofa sent shivers down his spine and woke every instinct he had that he so didn't want to face just now. He fled to his room, desperately trying to forget the picture of this delicious girl lingering on _his_ sofa.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Great Hall was decorated with hundreds of suspended jack-o-lanterns, grinning down on the students. The huge candelabras bathed the hall in a golden light. Savoury foods and desserts loaded every house table, and the castle ghosts decorated the air, eagerly awaiting the time they could start their hunt through the halls. But the mood wasn't as light and playful as other years. Now it was almost gloomy, no surprise, as this afternoon's events were still on everyone's minds.

Several places at the long tables were empty, those students still in the hospital wing. Several of the teachers looked somewhat 'worse for the wear'. Professor Sprout had a bruise above her left eye, Flitwick kept stroking his hair where it had been hit with a curse and now stood straight up, Slughorn wore his right arm in a sling and McGonagall moved slowly and carefully, limping slightly. The younger students who hadn't been in Hogsmeade asked the others over and over again about the events in the village. Even Hagrid looked more dishevelled than usual.

Usually after the dinner, the different houses retreated to their common rooms for their own Halloween parties, but this night, no one seemed to be in the mood. And the three Egyptian guests who had joined the feast seemed to share the same mood. Neriman was tired and limped, complaining of a large bruise at the back of her left shoulder. Edis fell asleep during the dinner and only woke when Luna shook him gently. Abdel was still in the hospital wing and Layla sat, distracted and mute, between the chatting Hufflepuffs.

McGonagall gave a little speech before dinner was served, once again thanking those who had fought so bravely, informing them all that the ministry had captured four Death Eaters and were tracking down the rest. "Didn't work before!" Draco Malfoy grumbled nastily, also annoyed that no student was allowed to leave the grounds for now. The protection of the school seemed to be the only thing that kept them all safe. Minerva also told the Prefects and the two Head Students that they didn't have to patrol that evening, that it would be done by the teachers. Officially, to give them an evening off, unofficially the professors wanted to check the long corridors for themselves.

After dinner, Hermione left the Great Hall with her friends, seeing Malfoy climbing the stairs alone. "Doesn't he go to the common room with the other Slytherins?" Ginny whispered and the Head-Girl shrugged.

"He wanted to visit Abdel after dinner. He must be going to the hospital wing."

Harry watched him vanishing to the fourth floor and pursed his lips. "Am I wrong, or has his mood gotten worse?"

Ron snorted, his dislike for his opponent had deepened since he saw him and Hermione sitting side by side. "Maybe even his own house mates figured out what a jerk he is."

Hermione glared at him. "Why you are so mean, Ron?" she asked quietly, while they climbed the stair to the Gryffindor tower. "He fought at yours and Harry's side, he defended Harry, - you told me so during dinner - and he saved my life." – _'And he held me!'_ her inner voice whispered. – "I know you may never like him, but you could stop hating him." She had intended to make it sound like a suggestion, but it came out more like a demand. She was too tired and still too shaken to be diplomatic.

Ron stared at her. "You can't manipulate feelings like that, Mione. He poisoned me two years ago-"

"That was an accident!" Granger snapped. _Couldn't he tell the difference between intention and accident?_

"He made our lives here miserable, bullied and tormented us at every possible opportunity, he betrayed us to Umbridge, he brought Death Eaters into our school and he nearly killed Dumbledore!" Ron continued, growing angrier by the second. "Topping it off, he didn't lift a finger when we were prisoners at the manor, but locked us in the cellars. And just because he tries to be nice all of sudden, you ask me to stop hating him? I can't – and I certainly never will!"

His face was flushed, his blue eyes flashing. Hermione shook her head. "Don't you think I know all this? Do you think I'm that easily manipulated? I know he did all those things, but I do recognize when someone is truly contrite. And he was being blackmailed."

"Blackmailed!" Ron scoffed. "My heart bleeds for him!"

The girl turned on him, steaming. "Voldemort forced him by threatening to kill his parents. What would have you done, Ron? Watch your parents get murdered? I don't think so."

They reached the seventh floor and headed for the portrait of the Fat Lady. Ronald grumbled to himself and glanced at his girlfriend. "Do you even realize how often and vehemently you defend that prick?" he suddenly asked, ignoring the sighs of his sister and Harry. He looked down at Hermione, who blinked in surprise.

"I'm not defending him, Ron, but truth is truth," she answered, taken aback.

"Right!" Ron sneered and passed her by. "You don't even notice how often you stand up for him. Two months ago you were outraged to learn that he your Head-partner, and now you're turning into a mother-hen as soon as someone takes a hard line with him. You even snapped at the Head of the Aurors' Office, because they doubted Malfoy's so-called 'noble intentions'."

Harry frowned. What happened in the Headmaster's Office beside the usual questions of the Ministry. He looked asking at Ginny, who simply grimaced and rolled her eyes at her brother.

They'd reached the Fat Lady, who sat in her frame with another witch from a painting on the fifth floor, and both were drinking liqueur from bright purple bottles. Tipsily she glanced down on the four. "Pass ...word?" she mumbled and hiccupped.

"Loki's nightmare," Harry sighed, and with a "Happy Halloween, you four!" the portrait swung open.

"She must have forgotten that this Halloween isn't so 'happy'!" Ginny grumbled and stepped in with the others. The common room was crowded, but a real 'party mood' was nowhere to be found. Too much had happened and, after all, several of them were still mourning the loss of one or more family members or friends who had fallen prey to the war.

Harry headed toward a free sofa and waited until the two girls had sat down, then he and Ron followed. The latter still glared at Hermione, who suddenly threw her head back and asked, exasperated: "Ron, what has gotten into you?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all!" he retorted shortly, seeing Hermione again standing up for Slytherin-Prince. "I'm only a little confused that all of sudden you're defending our long-time school enemy against your own friends."

"Speak for yourself, Ronald," Ginny declared, obviously irritated. "I do not insult Malfoy behind his back, and I certainly don't see him as an 'enemy'." But she was ignored.

"You're jealous, Ron, and it doesn't suit you," Hermione said slowly.

"Jealous? Of the _Ferret_? Do I have reason to be?" he shot back, frowning, while the green-eyed monster in his chest growled.

"No, you haven't!" Hermione snapped, ignoring her inner voice that whispered memories of Draco pulling her into his arms, brushing his lips against her face in Hogsmeade. She tried to push away the picture of his smiling face during their work together. "I don't like it that you speak of him unfairly, or-"

"There!" Ron hissed, pointing at her. "You're doing it again. You're showing your claws – for _him_! Cripes, Hermione, you even sided with him during Quidditch!"

"Was I supposed to watch him fall to his death?" Hermione's voice was growing shrill now – a certain sign that she was really angry. "For God's sake, Ron, we are all_ school mates_, and we all have a responsibility for each other! Isn't that what Dumbledore wanted for all of us?"

"Yeah, responsibility – that was exactly what you showed, as you went all pale and crazy when those Bludgers went after him." He raised his hand to halt her reply, and continued: "I know, this was because of that life debt thing. It was forcing you – but thank our lucky stars this is ended now and you can return to being your usual self."

"Ended?" She shook her head as if to clear it. "What do you mean?"

"He saved your life in the Forbidden Forest, you saved his today in Hogsmeade. You're even. No life debt can force you to act all weird!" He fixed her with a fierce glance, but Hermione wouldn't be Hermione if she allowed someone else to control her actions.

"He saved me again – from Greyback, remember?" she said firmly.

Ron lifted a brow. "Technically it was the jackal that saved yours and Malfoy's arse. Your debt was paid, you two are even and you can stop switching into protection mode whenever he gets himself into trouble."

The Gryffindoe-Queen couldn't believe what she was hearing. "He saved me from an assault far worse than a werewolf's bite, Ron Weasley! Maybe I would still be alive now, but _raped_, torn to shreds and praying not to die by being _eaten alive_! And, by the way, do you really think that by me saving him back in that alley that everything goes back like it was before we helped each other?"

"He saved you, you saved him – end of story," Ronald stated pig-headed again, refusing to listen..

Harry saw the dispute coming – it had already started. He knew these friends too well; they were closing in quickly to a quarrel, and knowing their stubbornness, he interrupted. "Ron, Mione, you can stop now. You two-"

"You can't charge a life against a life, Ronald!" Hermione snapped, ignoring Harry's suggestion. "It isn't like paying for a piece of furniture, and getting change back. Saving someone's life or them saving yours is certainly one of the most intense experiences one could have. You can't pretend it means nothing after you helped your rescuer. You still owe him, and vice versa. The debt is never really paid. It's just too far reaching."

"It certainly reached far enough to make you feel things you shouldn't be!" the red-haired young wizard hissed.

She looked at him with wide hurt eyes, a pang of guilt woke in her, but she pushed it away. "'Feel things'? What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on, Hermione, at least admit it!" he growled. "That thrice-accursed jerk tries to win you by trying to wake your compassion, adds some completely uncharacteristic bravery to the mix, throws in a helping hand and a touch of that Malfoy-charm, and after a few weeks he has you wrapped around his little finger!"

That was too much – and way too close to the truth, even if she knew Draco hadn't intended to pull her onto his side. He'd gotten under her skin, but she would certainly not admit this openly! Hermione jumped up, her face dark with fury. "How _dare_ you, Ronald Weasley! How dare you to say _such things_! He doesn't have me 'wrapped around his little finger' and he certainly hasn't manipulated me."

"He certainly has!" Ron shouted, also rising. "Look at you – there you stand defending that blasted Death Eater against your own boyfriend. I can't imagine what's really going on when you two are alone in your common room – or how that bathroom schedule _really_ works!"

"Ron! Stop!" Harry warned, seeing that Hermione was close to exploding, her curls were already buzzing with energy again, like they did in the morning. He'd also noticed that all other conversation had stopped, that everyone was looking at the arguing couple.

"Is this how well you trust me, Ronald?" She was nearly to the boiling point now.

"I only tell you what I've seen!"

"And exactly_ what_ have you seen?" Hermione screeched, her eyes blazing. _Hopefully not Malfoy's little 'good bye' gesture in the marketplace._

"Oh, nothing – only that I twice find you arm in arm with that spoiled wanker, and this afternoon you practically sat on his lap! You couldn't take your eyes off him for more than five seconds! Not even mentioning your behaviour towards the aurors, when one of them questioned Malfoy's sudden change at heart! You nearly tore the bloke's head off!" Ron yelled back, his hands balled into fists. The memory of how Hermione clung to Malfoy, saying she was already safe – with that bastard! – or how she only wanted to 'protect' him against the Aurors, was fresh in his mind and only stoked the fires of his anger. And Heaven only knows how he might have reacted if he'd seen his rival's actions in Hogsmeade with Hermione.

Hermione was close to bursting. "You know what, Ronald? I have had enough! If you want to be jealous, flame on! If you are unable to differentiate between an embrace and _support_, then we don't ever have to talk again!" She straightened, hurt and anger shimmered in her brown orbs, with an unseen guilt underlying.

"That's rich – cheating on me and then being offended, because…"

"I did NOT cheat on you!" – _'Not until now!'_ the unwelcome voice added helpfully. – "How dare you to accuse me of something LIKE THAT?" Hermione's voice was shrill enough to be heard outside the common room. "You imply that I am disloyal behind your back, and you interpret my helping someone as a kind of 'affair' – do you really think that I'm going to listen to this crap one minute longer? You can think of an apology, Ronald Bilious Weasley! Until then: Good night forever!" She whirled around and stormed away, her cheeks fiery red with fury and hurt.

"Yeah, walk away! Run back to that slimy git and tell him that if he doesn't keep his filthy hands off you, his parents can order a gravestone for him!"

"Ron, stop it!" Harry tried to force him back onto the sofa, pulling at his arm, but his friend tore himself out of his grasp.

He took a deep breath, when Hermione snarled from the doorway: "Listen, Ron, and listen good: Malfoy and I are simply Head-partners. We have our duties, we have learned to work with each other like adults, and it happened that we had to rescue each other from dangerous situations. If you think that's reason enough to act like a jealous fool, I can't change it. But you will never – _never_ again! – threaten to kill another student, or I _will_ report you. Normally I would take points from Gryffindor because of your behaviour towards another student, but considering what we've all been through today, I will drop it. But the next time you talk to me, you _will_ have a worked on a very good apology! Good night!"

She vanished out of the Gryffindor-tower, tears of fury and betrayal in her eyes. She didn't listen to Ginny's call to come back, as her friend ran after her, she simply fled up and down the staircases toward her own dorm. She was hurt and exhausted – and deeply disappointed. She couldn't know that this night would hold more changes for her.

TBC…

_So, my dear readers, this was the next part of the story. Yeah, I know, what a way to start the new year with such a dispute between Ron and Hermione, but – as you all already know – it was about time that our dear Ronald got this green-eyed-monster. And it will lead to more things, be sure of it._

_In the next chapter there will be a visit from someone you all know and love/hate. And Draco will show one more time that a sensible man hides beneath his cold and mocking mask._

_We will hurry._

_Love you all, please, please review again,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	24. Comforted

_Hallo, my dear Readers,_

_Thank you so very, very much once again for all the nice reviews I got for the last chapter and the edited one. I know, my English is sometimes very rough and I am more than happy that I have my very dear friend, who has a very close look at the story-parts before they are published. You all have come to know now, why (laugh)._

_Yes, Ron finally snapped – and this without even knowing the half of all (as well as our two Head-Students, who are still on their way to understand their own feelings). And after all this action it is now time for some sweet moments._

_I hope you have fun and that you are going to like the way a new / old character shows up in the story (please let me know about it)._

_Off to Hogwarts,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 23 – Comforted**

Hermione ran through the long corridor leading to the Head-dorm. Tears blurred her sight, and before she knew it, she found herself before the knight's portrait. He looked taken aback. "Fair maiden, who made thee to weep?" he asked, speaking the language of chivalry.

Hermione shook her head. "A craven fool!" she answered, then gave the password. She heard the knight call out to her that there was a visitor inside, but she wasn't listening. She only wanted to reach her room and to bury herself in her bed, with Crookshanks beside her. She'd been through so much this day, had faced death again, had been forced to fight for her own life and her friends', and was rewarded with jealousy and distrust! She couldn't bear any more angry words and was fleeing to a safe place. Wiping her eyes she stepped in – and halted just inside the door.

Her partner stood before the fire, with an older version of himself. The silver blond hair fell like a silky curtain over the broad, black-clad shoulders. The older Malfoy turned toward the door, clearly startled by her sudden entrance; piercing grey eyes looked at her from an aristocratic and arrogant face.

Hermione paused, unable to move. She hadn't seen him since the Battle of Hogwarts. Lucius Malfoy had always intimidated her. Meeting him now, after the day she'd just had, she knew she would not be able to tolerate the evil things he would say to her. She was positive he hadn't changed at all. But he was a free man, discharged from the ministry and the trial, still (somehow) the respected head of one of the oldest families in the wizarding world and the father of her Head partner. And she was still a member of the Order of the Phoenix and a Gryffindor!

All of this went through her mind in the blink of an eye, with only the hint of a hesitation. Taking a deep breath, she straightened, collecting her deflated courage. "Mr. Malfoy," she said, pleased at how strong her voice sounded.

Lucius Malfoy assessed her, hairline to shoes, his expression unreadable as he flatly replied: "Miss Granger."

It was a forced courtesy on both sides. Draco, who stood behind his father, still clad in his elegant black suit and black turtleneck jumper, watched Hermione warily and saw the small details he wouldn't have noticed several weeks ago. But things had changed – drastically. He noticed her slightly reddened eyes, the last lingering flush in her cheeks, the trembling of her lower lip and the catch in her breath. And the question came unbidden from his lips: "Are you all right?"

No, he hadn't said that, had he? Her eyes and the surprised gaze of his father told him that his voice had indeed betrayed his concern. No! If his father saw even a breath of it, and learned that his 'forced acceptance' was in actual fact an undeniable concern, he was in deep trouble. Even after the end of the war and Voldemort's death, Lucius Malfoy was still certain that Muggle-borns did not belong in the wizarding community. Just accepting them as full human beings was – in his case – a very big step!

Hermione hid her astonishment at the compassion Draco was displaying, looking quickly at the father. Seeing the frown and the glare directed at his son, she knew that she would have to act quickly. The day had been hard enough on Draco and herself. "Everything is well, thank you. The corridors are empty and all the troublemakers you identified are tucked into their dormitories," she said, as if reporting to a teacher; adding details to cover for the disquiet in her Head-partner's behaviour. "I'll retire now. Good night, gentlemen." She nodded curtly towards Lucius Malfoy (who lifted an elegantly curved brow), and moved to pass father and son. She had almost reached the stair when the haughty voice of Lucius stopped her.

"Miss Granger?"

_Please, oh please don't make a scene now!_ She would surely lose any semblance of control – either in tears or in anger, and neither would do when it came to the elder Malfoy. Summoning all her strength, she forced her expression to a blank, then turned and looked at him. Only now, in the light of the rest of the common room, could she recognize the changes on his face since she'd seen him last, and before that in the manor, when she, Harry and Ron had been taken as captives to the Malfoy's home. His hair then had looked matted and unkempt, his ash grey face had been unshaven, his eyes were sunken. He obviously was not caring for his appearance. The nearly empty goblet in his hand that day said much as he tottered toward his son, asking him of the identity of the captives with a slur. She remembered his dishevelled appearance later at the Battle of Hogwarts, looking sickly and broken. As a virtual prisoner in his own home, he'd been looking for an escape and found it, figuratively, in the wine cellar.

Even now he bore the appearance of a man who had been ill for a long time, but was now in recovery. He once again looked well-cared for, bearing appearance of a noble, but there were still shadows around his eyes, and his cheeks were hollow. Biting her lips she realized that his expression was curious, and his face held something else, something she couldn't quite identify. "Yes?"

He took a step toward her, the walking stick with the silver snake head (that was the handle of his new wand) glimmered in the firelight, his form – an inch shorter than Draco now – still a presence of power. "I have been informed that it was you who saved my son's life." His voice was cool, his jaw set, his intense eyes held her gaze with recovered authority. Oh yes, she knew where Draco inherited his attitudes.

She refrained from biting her lip. "Yes, that's true," she answered, exchanging a quick glance with his son, who shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other, the only hint of his tension.

Lucius nodded at her answer. "Don't think me ungrateful. I love my son. Everyone should realize that by now, contrary to the opinions of certain people." He fixed her with a look that was ... not cold, and cocked his head. "But allow me one question. Why?"

For several seconds Hermione lost track of what was happening to her face, and gaped at him in disbelief. She blurted out: "Because he was about to _get killed,_ Mr. Malfoy! And I was the only one close who could prevent it. Of course I had to act!" It was obvious she thought his question absurd.

His eyes took on an expression she thought might drill a hole in her, and for a moment - she felt the start of that pressure in her head. She knew very well what he was attempting, and anger flared up. "Don't you _dare_ use _l__egilimency_ against me!" she hissed, her appearance suddenly fiery, daring the blooded aristocrat to continue his mental assault.

Draco lay a hand on his father shoulder, interrupting the spell before it could fully take place, saving her from a potential humiliation. "Father, let her alone. She had no other purpose, I assure you." His voice was calm, but with an edge.

Grey glared at grey, then Lucius pursed his lips, nodded and bowed his head, accepting that there were no other motives behind the Muggle-born's selfless deed. "It is ... rare that someone does a favour for our family without taking some sort of advantage," he said, looking at Hermione. The next words came with some effort, but he knew that the times had changed and that he must continue for the sake of his family. "My apology, Miss Granger." He took a deep breath as the young girl stared at him, head held high, not giving any ground. _So proud – like he would have expected from a witch of only pure heritage._ Changing the topic he continued: "I also learned from Professor McGonagall that Draco stood up for you against some fool from his own house."

Hermione saw the alert expression on her Head partner's face. "We are working together here, Mr. Malfoy. We are children no longer. I think the war caused enough damage, sorrow and death. It is only fitting that we do not act as enemies toward each other, for we are not. We may see things differently, but as adults we should behave as civilized beings. In addition, even though our houses are traditional rivals, we are also school mates, and that is reason enough to work together as necessary." She directed her attention to the younger man, and added: "Draco and I decided to, shall we say, collaborate, not only for the sake of the positions we are entrusted with, but also as examples for the younger students. And, even so, for our own sake as well."

Her voice had grown calm, soft, but there was no hesitation. Lucius raised one brow. There was more to this Muggle-born bookworm than he'd thought. "I heard that you're called the brightest witch of your age. They might be right – despite your descent." He looked at his son. "Do you share her opinions?"

Draco clasped his hands behind him, straightening, demonstrating a confidence he didn't feel just then. "Yes, I do," he said quietly.

His father sighed after a long moment, suddenly looking older. "I thought so. It's the blood of your mother that speaks out of you. She always held a higher tolerance, you know." His next words were to Hermione. "My wife and I owe you a great deal, Miss Granger, and I want to ... thank you for saving Draco." He looked down, fingering his walking stick, then looked up at her again, saying resolutely, "If there is ever a time you need help, do not hesitate to contact me."

She didn't know if it was the cool arrogant tone he used or the wording, but ire awoke in Hermione. Simple Pureblood arrogance! "Don't bother, Mr. Malfoy, your son has already repaid me by saving me from Greyback!"

Surprise flickered in Lucius' eyes, and he turned towards his son again. "_Greyback_ was among the attackers?"

"Yes, sir, he was," Draco confirmed, his face expressionless.

Lucius turned back to her. "And Draco saved you from him?"

"Yes, sir, he did," she replied, her expression echoing Draco's "Greyback caught me when I led him away from a younger student, but Draco averted the worst and chased him away before he could … kill me." She straightened. "So you see, you don't owe me anything."

Again his only answer was an intent look. As if coming to a decision, he gave her a stiff, shallow bow. "Miss Granger."

Hermione gave him a nod as well. "Mr. Malfoy." She could tell Draco was relieved. "Draco, good night." With those words she turned, leaving father and son by the fire in the common room.

"Goodnight!" her partner called after her, and managed it to make it sound like one of his casual dismissals that used to irritate the hell out of her, but no more. She knew him better now. She headed to her room, gave Lady Hillary the password and found herself in the warm, welcoming environment a moment later. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it and sighed heavily. Crookshanks meowed, jumped from her bed and strolled towards her, doing a figure eight around her ankles. Bending down, Hermione picked him up and pressed him close to her, before she buried her face in his soft scruffy fur and tried to fight back the tears, now burning behind her lids. After the day she'd had, facing Lucius Malfoy had been the twist of the knife. Could it get any worse?

The half-Kneazle meowed again, rubbing his head against her ear, trying to comfort her as only a cat can. But it was a while before she was able to walk her bed, shrug off her school uniform, slip on her cotton nightdress, and collapse, finally allowing the tears to wet her pillow.

She didn't know how long she lay there like a ragdoll, Crookshanks in her arms, but finally she drifted off to sleep. The candles in her room had gone out and darkness enveloped the small figure on the kingsized bed. But her sleep was not peaceful. Her memory haunted her troubled mind, as pictures darted in and out, and all of sudden she found herself back in Hogsmeade, heard the screams of pain and shouts of rage, smelled the burning, caught in a web of flying spells. And then there it was - Greyback. He held her once again in his iron grip. She felt his hot, stinking breath on her neck, and saw Malfoy just there, but this time he only looked, turned ... and walked away. Then the claws and teeth of the werewolf were tearing her apart.

Hermione woke up, sweating and panting, the echo of her terrified screams still circling the room about her. Crookshanks crouched beside her, the hair along his back standing straight up, and looking at her with large eyes she could still see in the light of the last candle. Then, all of sudden, a loud knock at the door made her jump and squeal in alarm, her heart racing.

"Granger?" Malfoy's muffled voice sounded oddly urgently, and Lady Hillary snapped something about the late hour, and disturbing a young lady. Ignoring the guardian portrait, he shouted: "Granger! Are you all right?"

Hermione stifled a sob. No, she was certainly NOT all right – not after that horror in Hogsmeade, the nasty scene with Ron; and the unwelcome encounter with the elder Malfoy topped off by a wicked nightmare. She should be accustomed to bad dreams after the last year, but some of them still left her shaken. Gulping down her tears, she looked up. Maybe, if she didn't reply, the Slytherin would think her asleep and go away, but his next words destroyed that hope. "I can see the light under your door and I heard you scream. What's wrong? What happened?"

The last shadows of the nightmare were still lingered like ghosts, and she couldn't collect her thoughts. But one thing she knew for sure: Malfoy wouldn't go away, before she answered the door. He was as stubborn as she was.

Rising, she rubbed her eyes, pushed her hair back, stumbled to the door and unlocked it. Draco stood in the final light of the fireplace in the common room. He wore black silk pyjamas, tousled hair and an exhausted expression. For a moment he seemed older, as if he'd aged over the last day, but that impression disappeared when he lifted a brow – so similar to his father – and his glance took in her face. He saw the wide eyes, the trembling hand on the door. "What's the matter? I thought someone was killing you in there," he said, glad to see her unharmed.

"N-n-nothing," she whispered hoarsely. "Sorry if I woke you."

He shrugged. "I couldn't sleep either." He leaned on the door frame. "So, what was it?" he asked softly. "Nightmare?"

Hermione lowered her head, "Mm hm."

He took a closer look at her, the dark circles under her eyes, and the bedcovers in complete disarray. It was clear she had to be close to a breakdown. The new part in him reacted before he could sort out his thoughts. He jerked his head toward the common-room. "Come back downstairs, Granger. I think we both could use a nightcap."

Blinking through her wet lashes, Hermione snuffled. "A nightcap?" she repeated, wiping her nose with her sleeve. It was the gesture of a small girl. That and her appearance evoked an unfamiliar urge to comfort her.

But he wasn't the comforting type. He'd _never _been good at dealing with the emotions of other people. His parents certainly didn't express affection around him. But just this moment, he followed an impulse, and took her slender, cold fingers. "A good one, without a hangover tomorrow."

Hermione's attention was drawn to their entwined hands. His clasp was gentle, firm, and his skin was warm, unlike her own just this moment. The warmth spread up her arm and nestled down in her belly, as he held her hand. She lifted her gaze. "How late is it?" she asked nervously. An irrelevant question, but at least it was a distraction her from the strange feeling awakening in her.

"Around two in the morning." A smile touched his eyes, and he gently pulled her along. Having not the will to turn down his offer, she followed him. Crookshanks, annoyed by the interloper, trotted after them.

The common room was dim without the last dancing flames in the open fireplace, which made it somehow cosy. The dark shadows in the corners of the room offered a strange reassurance, while the glowing embers popped and shot sparks up the chimney. The heavy rain pelted the large windows, now covered with the velvet curtains. Still numb and dizzy from the nightmare and the hour, Draco walked Hermione to her sofa, waiting for her to seat herself before he released her hand. It was such a drastic contrast to his behaviour all those years before, it still astonished her. His politeness appeared so normal and smooth, as if he had never behaved any other way. His upbringing was now on display, but also, his own personal guard was down and revealed – once again – his real self. Was it because of the events in Hogsmeade or fatigue, obvious on his ashen face and in his glassy eyes? She wasn't sure, but she appreciated it.

He brought out a bottle and two glasses, placing them on the table. "It's a twenty year old sherry my father brought with him this evening." Flicking his wand, he produced a corkscrew out of air, showing his improvement in _conjuration_ – a form of Transfiguration in which objects or animals were 'produced' out of thin air. He uncorked the bottle and filled their glasses, offering her one. Moments later, the corkscrew dissolved into smoke. "Here. It's possibly the best remedy for a peaceful sleep you can find – besides, the stuff Pomfrey would give you tastes like boiled socks."

Some of the haunted expression left her sunken eyes as she accepted the glass with a meek "Thank you." She sipped the heavy, golden brown liquor. It tasted very sweet and earthy, and as it started to warm her belly, she gratefully took another sip. Draco saw some colour returning to her white cheeks, and she started to relax. "It tastes good," she said, licking her lips. "Your father brought it with him?" she asked tentatively, and Draco nodded.

"Yes, he got it past the safety spell of McGonagall's fireplace. After he learned what happened today in Hogsmeade, he insisted on visiting me here. He rode the floo network from the manor to here, the safest way for him and my mother to move outside home at the moment. He simply wanted to check on me in person, and went then back to the Headmistress' office to return home, shortly after you went to your room."

Biting her lips, Hermione sighed. Again she had witnessed the deep affection the Malfoy family had for each other, and for just a second she was sad that her own parents couldn't show up like this, then the flicker of jealousy was gone. Instead she noticed something else: her sorrow had lessened, and the nightmare had loosed its grip on her. And she was strangely comfortable with him in the quiet of the common room. After all those years of his taunting and demonstrations of loathing, she shouldn't feel like this, but right now it seemed ... normal. They had faced so much together already, and it was pleasant to converse as if they had been friends for years, friends who might speak of personal topics. "Your father seemed tense when he learned that it was I who shoved you out of the way," she mumbled; chancing the opportunity.

Draco sighed. "Yes. He might have switched sides at the end of the war, but he is still not sure that Muggle-born wizards belong in the true wizarding world." He sipped his sherry and looked straight at her; remembering her words from earlier that evening. "Thank you for handling his question so well. You spared him many sleepless nights and me a lecture for managing to get into your debt, of all people," he saw the flash of irritation, and quickly added, "and I, um, also wanted to apologize for his actions." He saw her lifting a brow in anticipation and knew what she was waiting for. He shifted uncomfortably; still not sure how to apologize. "Uh… concerning yesterday evening…," he began, and asked himself - what was he getting into _now_.

"Yes?" Her voice was soft, her head tilted expectantly.

Swallowing his sudden nervousness he mumbled: "The _legilimency_ ... uh … it wasn't ... right." Her expression sobered. He rubbed his neck. He hadn't intended to apologize for his action – after all it was _she_ who invaded his privacy, but – as he had already known in the hour after their venomous combat – he had overreacted. Eavesdropping was entirely different than to invading another's mind. He took a deep breath. "Sometimes when I get angry, I don't know myself anymore. And then there are times I don't know what to do, because what I want is the opposite of what I used to believe for my whole life." He looked into the dark corners of the room, which didn't help him at all to find the words he needed. Same as the wall three or four weeks ago, when he voiced his apology to the pretty bookworm the first time. He swallowed, lowering his head, and said the next thing that came to mind: "It wasn't right, what I did to you. I … I'm sorry."

Silence.

When he finally ventured a look at the girl, he couldn't read her expression. There was thoughtfulness, annoyance, but also something close to amusement. "You're improving," she finally said and smirked, as his expression became confused.

"What?" he asked, clueless.

"At apologizing," she said, then smiled when he rolled his eyes. Then she sobered. "Invading another's mind for information, thoughtless of their wishes, is close to a violation." He winced. "You don't know how furious I was at you this morning!"

"Technically yesterday morning. It's after midnight-"

"Don't change the subject," she said sharply, then her face softened again when she saw how uncertain he suddenly looked. She sighed. "Really, Malfoy, you have no idea how to behave with real people." She saw the hidden embarrassment. "And worst of all, you threatened me."

He pursed his lips, obviously having run out of words.

She took a deep breath. "What you did was close to criminal." She watched defiance and regret flicker over his handsome features. She considered letting him dangle on her words for a while longer, but they'd both had a very hard day, and decided to let it go. "And then you came and saved me – again! You even consoled and supported me!" She snorted. "I just don't get you, Draco Malfoy."

"Eh, I don't understand myself, either," he answered quietly, looking at her with an odd mixture of hope and resolve. "So … am I forgiven?"

Hermione set her glass down, crossed her arms and looked at him for several long seconds, then she sighed when she saw something close to a plea in his eyes. "Yes, one last time!" she grumbled and then her breath caught because of the genuine smile that slowly spread over his face. It made him look so different than when he sneered or smirked. He always was a handsome young man, but the moment he truly smiled, she grew dizzy with sudden want. It started in her belly and spread hot and longingly through her body, making her heart speed up and her mouth grow dry. It was almost impossible not to fall for that smile! _'Does he have Veela-blood in his family?'_ she asked, shaking herself mentally. Hell's bells, if she didn't catch herself, she would soon be drooling over him and following him around with puppy dog eyes like the other girls! Rubbing her nose, she grabbed hold of her suddenly spinning emotions and continued: "Well, at least when you used _legilimency_ the second time, you were helping me, so I certainly owe you this: thank you."

He shrugged, still smiling. "I was able to discover where you were and…" he paused and grimaced, "and I learned this: I may be good at _occlumency_, but cutting a mind link properly is something I have to work on." He noticed her eyes widening and lifted one calming hand. "Don't freak, but I think we were still connected yesterday. I was too far away from you to use _legilimency_ effectively on you, but nevertheless I could reach you when I concentrated."

Awkwardly she eyed him. "Is… is that connection still … active? Is that the word?"

He shook his head. "No, it broke completely during your attempt to escape Greyback. Your emotions were too strong." His eyes met hers. "You were terrified," he added gently.

"Being chased by a horny, hungry werewolf in his human form would scare the living crap out of anyone." It was rare that Hermione used foul language, but at this hour, she let it out. "But the moment I heard your voice in my head, and you told me you were coming, I… I knew ... I knew I'd have help. And it helped me hold down the panic when Greyback caught me." She lowered her head. "It's crazy, Malfoy. Only an hour before, I was still so mad at you that I was ready to claw your silver eyes out, and then I was so glad to have you in my head." She looked up again and frowned when she saw the familiar smirk. "What?"

"Nice, 'silver eyes'. That's new."

At the sudden rush of red in her cheeks, he laughed. It was a rich, full sound, without malice or mockery, just the simple sound of amusement – and Hermione gasped inwardly as she realized that she liked it ... a lot. He had given her that smile only a minute before, yes, but she had never thought that she would hear his full laughter. It was intoxicating, alluring, awakening something in her she only could describe as 'butterflies'. Mentally casting about for a way to escape this topic and to regain some control, she cleared her throat. "Well … yes, sometimes. Or stormy grey when you're angry or … oh, just drop it, Malfoy!"

He was laughing heartily now, before he said huskily: "That's a very detailed observation. My, my, Granger, you really can give a guy _ideas!_"

"No … I-I-I didn't mean it like that and… STOP GRINNING!"

She punched the cushion on her sofa, while he chuckled. "Easy, little lioness, or you'll give me a laughing fit!"

Hermione blushed even more before she actually heard what he called her. " 'Little lioness'?" she repeated. From time to time something like a pet name had escaped him, but this one sounded … sweet.

It was his turn to redden. "Well … you can be gentle like that ugly monster there when it's asleep," he said, pointing at a dozing Crookshanks who had rolled himself into a tight, ginger ball at Hermione's side. "And then you can show your claws, you know, like a wildcat, so … yeah, little lioness fits." Great zonk, he hadn't said that out loud, had he? One look at her flushed face and her large eyes told him that – indeed – his mouth had been quicker than his mind (again). Clearing his throat, he hastily changed the subject:

"So, what happened this to you this evening?" Noticing her puzzled look, he added: "You looked beside yourself when you came into the common room. If not for my father being here, I think you might have broken down right then and there." She opened her mouth to deny it, but he looked at her shrewdly. "Come on, Granger, I can tell that much about you by now." She sighed deeply, took her glass again and sipped, then pulled her feet up under her, staring at nothing. "Really, Gryffindor, you can tell me." His voice tugged her back to the darkened room.

She snorted. This had to be a parallel world. The boy she had grown to love had hurt her deeply, and the boy who should be laughing at her misery was showing concern. And she felt instinctively that he would not use his knowledge against her. Not anymore. But still … "Ron happened!" she heard herself saying. Damn, he wasn't a close friend, but _Draco Malfoy_! What had gotten into her? Well, possibly the realization that you can trust someone that had saved your life – twice – and stood up for you against his own house mates.

His eyes narrowed. "What did that creepy ginger moron do to you?" Merlin's beard, only four weeks ago he wouldn't have cared a whit if there was trouble in paradise between Miss Ruddy-Know-It-All and the Weasel, but no more. And seeing her on the verge of tears this evening, quite shattered, now filled him with an ache and anger that took him, yet again, by surprise. Granger's sorrow moved him, and there was one thing more that his heart practically screamed: the girl had been through enough today, without having problems with that git. Draco was a Slytherin through and through, and he had a firm sense of justice.

For a moment, Hermione was about to snap at him that he shouldn't insult Ron like this, but, as she had to admit, this time Malfoy was right. Ron had been a moron. Wiping away new tears, she whispered: "He … he got the wrong idea ... about us." She shook her head and lowered her head. "We … we argued."

Draco snorted. "Proceeding from my history with the Weasel, I venture to guess he didn't think and blurted out whatever vague notion slogged through his thick head."

Glancing aside, she took a shuddering breath. "Sometimes he's such an idiot." She felt so disloyal, but it was only the truth.

He grimaced. "I have to agree, except for the 'sometimes'." It was meant as a careful joke, and as he heard her brief, pained chuckle, a small smile came to his lips. "So, what was the reason for him outing himself as the pillock he is?"

Rubbing her, she sighed. "He overreacted. We were all pushed to the edge today and… and he simply had a misconception."

The silver grey eyes looked disbelieving. "You defend him after he obviously hurt you?"

A snort. "Odd, he accused me of exactly the same thing – referring to you," she mumbled.

"He said you defended me? Why?" He was clueless. "Did you tell him about your interference with Slughorn?"

Pink was creeping into her cheeks, and she cast her eyes to the floor. "No, I didn't, but … well, Ron still holds the grudge against you, and," she stumbled, "I… I don't like it when people are treated unfairly, especially behind their back. So … I tried to persuade him, telling him that all of us changed after the war, but that only made him angrier." She stopped, her face fully red now.

Draco blinked, thunderstruck. Of course Potter and Weasley still held their grudge against him. He felt the same about them, too, well, sort of, but Granger taking his part – even against her own friends – was a bombshell. Why? Yes, of course, he'd come to the rescue twice now, and they'd gotten along better recently. And there was that morning he defended her against his own house mates. All of this might have provided reason enough for a proper Gryffindor to integrate someone into their overdeveloped loyalty, but after seven years of enmity, he was stunned that she defended him, even in front of the authorities yesterday afternoon.

"So, the Weasel king hasn't changed." He shook his head. "So like him."

Hermione took another sip of the old sherry. "It isn't only because of our history. Ron believes you're up to something." She watched a bitter expression scurry over his face, but held her tongue, knowing that it must have something to do with the events in the Headmaster's Office, after she and the others had left, leaving him to the inquisition. But she didn't dare ask him about it. He would tell her – eventually. When he felt ready.

Draco cleared his throat, pushing away the troubling memories of the day. "Come on, let's put a dent in this bottle," he said, picking it up and changing the subject. "If we have enough, perhaps we can both get to sleep." He refilled their glasses before she could refuse, and muttered a simple spell at the fire, causing the flames to jump, adding a bit more light to the room and a less gloomy feeling to the room.

Hermione sipped again. Beneath lowered lashes she watched his silhouette in front of the fireplace, the firelight dancing on the sheen of his black silk pyjamas. For the first time, she became conscious of her simple cotton nightdress, and wished momentarily that she owned silk pyjamas as well, soft, clinging ... Then she mentally slapped herself. Wearing silk for Malfoy! A stray spell must have hit her back in Hogsmeade. And as he made himself comfortable on his sofa, graceful as a jungle cat, she could feel her cheeks burning, and was grateful for the sherry, which would conveniently explain her blushing cheeks. She found herself examining his profile, the high cheekbones, the pale hair unkempt from bed, and those silver-grey eyes shimmering like the lake on a cloudy day. They were looking at nothing in particular. He seemed to be lost in thought, and made a face. She knew that he was thinking about the evil events of the day. Hoping to distract him, she asked the next question that popped into her mind.

"So, what do you think about the jackal – or the cat?"

He looked up, returning to the present, and pursed his lips. "Well, I think someone wants us to believe that Anubis and Bastet are in our area. They might be here to help, but still ... those odd feelings we get when they're near ... There's far more to them than we can see, considering how Greyback and his fledging reacted."

Hermione nodded and plunged deeper into the subject. They talked about what happened, and of their speculations and tentative conclusions concerning the two 'animals'. They agreed they had to do something about it – not about the Death Eaters, but about the invaders roaming Hogwarts' grounds and Hogsmeade.

As they talked, Hermione's eyes grew heavy, until her partner's soft words melted into a steady noise, like the song of a flowing river.

"Granger?"

She forced her eyes open, then fell asleep a moment later. The girl flopped onto her side, pulled her knees to her chest, sighed and lay still. Crookshanks, who had been pushed out of the way in the process, meowed in protest and looked at him. Draco watched her sleeping in a position that was guaranteed to produce a neck- and backache. He rolled his eyes. Hadn't he told her several times in the last quarter hour to go on up to bed?

Emptying his glass, he looked once again at her. The peaceful, innocent expression on her relaxed face touched him. She looked so vulnerable and so trusting, as only happened when someone was sleeping. He ached to reach out and to gather her in his arms, to protect her from the dark memory of the last few hours and against the lurking danger in the wide world.

It suddenly came back to him – this sleeping Gryffindor had ... _saved his life_! The image of her rushing towards him in that alley rose up in his memory, her face pale with fear and determination as she threw herself at him, knocking them both to the ground. He had been too shocked to react, but the green light immediately overhead revealed what almost happened: He would have been _killed_ in that moment, without knowing what hit him, if not for _this_ Muggle-born witch. His body would be lying there, cold and pale in death, his parents left with the heartbreaking duty of preparing him for the family crypt. _Would they even survive it, after all they'd been through?_

The thought of what very nearly happened rattled him again, and he shuddered. But with her actions, she had risked her own life to save him, and again, he felt strong, unnamed emotions arising in him, as intense as he had sensed when he cast about internally to find her after Greyback began to chase her. Suddenly, there was a connection to her he hadn't possessed before. Something had linked them together in that moment, back there in Hogsmeade. It had grown this night, as she trusted him enough to speak about her problems with Weasley. A link was formed that had nothing to do with the _l__egilimency_ he'd used against her, but something completely new for him. And with it came not only the urge to protect, but the sense of responsibility. He couldn't ignore her need, even if only to leave her sleeping in an awkward position, uncovered, in a late autumn night – exposed to the nightmares that would surely return if she slept alone.

He knew about nightmares only too well, because of his own experience before and after the war. One night, after the Battle of Hogwarts and shortly before the trial, he jerked awake to find his mother curled protectively around him, like she used to do when he was little. She'd smiled at him, hushed his embarrassed stutters, gently stroking his cheek. She whispered that no one would learn of his nightmares, nor that she came to aid him. He'd gratefully accepted it and had snuggled closer to her, not caring that he was an adult now and shouldn't need the shelter of his mother's arms anymore. But it had felt so very _good,_ and had chased away the horrible images for the rest of the night. Had he ever told her how grateful he was for that night?

So Draco knew exactly what this girl would go through over the next couple of hours. And those inclinations he had developed concerning her told him exactly what to do.

It would be impossible to get to her room. And Granger would turn hellcat the next morning if he took her with him into his own bed. So he made a decision. He quietly summoned one of his pillows and the large warm comforter. Pointing his wand at his silver sofa and the table, he moved them away soundlessly to make some room. Then with a flick at the couch Hermione lay on, he whispered an enlarging charm. Still the girl didn't move, settling into a deeper sleep.

Carefully Draco lifted her head, sliding his pillow beneath it, before he slipped onto the broad cushion beside her, covering them both with his comforter. During this time he was carefully watched by Crookshanks, who had hopped to the floor when he started to move the furniture. Draco ignored the ginger pet. As his tired and bruised body settled beside the petite witch, a sigh escaped him – the sound of contentment and release. Promptly Hermione mumbled something, shifted in her sleep, and moved closer to him, wrapping one arm around him and burying her face in his chest, then grew still again.

The Slytherin's eyes widened at this simple gesture that spoke volumes. And of their own accord, his arms went around her and held her.

It felt odd. He always slept alone. Yes, he'd had a few liaisons, had bedded a girl or three, but afterwards he or the girl left. He never slept with them, not even with Pansy Parkinson, his girlfriend of several years, until they grew apart during their sixth year. They remained on speaking terms during the seventh, but even then, Malfoy had begun to realise the true insanity of Voldemort and his fellows, while Pansy had embraced the movement with a passion. It had driven him away from her, even though he behaved, at first, as if nothing had changed. Pansy had been the only girl he ever had a 'relationship' with, but the dark haired female Slytherin could not compare to Hermione Granger.

The delicate looking Gryffindor with the courage of a lioness and the compassion of a saint, the loyalty of a golden retriever and a mind like a steel trap woke more feelings in him than he ever thought he had. She challenged him, kept him 'on his toes' – both intellectually and practically – but she also awoke his unused protective instinct. It was fun to be with her, tease her, but he also liked to just talk with her, to watch her when she didn't know it.

And he wanted her, maybe more than he ever wanted a girl before, but there was also this tenderness and affection that seemed to overflow inside him toward something he didn't dare to name. Having her now lying beside him, huddled against him with innocent trust, made his rusty, inexperienced heart leap with joy. And it didn't trip and fall.

His thoughts were interrupted when Crookshanks hopped on the sofa and rolled into a warm fuzzy ball at their feet, purring and staring almost adoringly at the young wizard, as if the animal knew exactly what Draco was doing on behalf of his girl. It's possible he really understood, for Kneazles were intelligent, and as far as the Slytherin knew, this creature was part Kneazle.

Malfoy's fist impulse was to kick the thing off the large cushion, but he dismissed the idea immediately, knowing that a) the ugly creature would answer any attempt with its claws and b) that Hermione would not be pleased about it. So, defeated before he began, he glared down at her pet and whispered: "Just this once! But don't get the wrong idea, you little monster. If I ever catch you on _my _bed, you certainly will learn how it feels to fly – from a window!"

Crookshanks only meowed, then blinked one time, looking him straight in the eye – was this a response? – and dropped its head between its paws. Draco shook his head – pets! – and lay back. Crikey, he was tired! And he didn't even care the impression they made, snuggled together on an enlarged sofa, covered by a blanket and bathed in the dying light of an open fireplace.

After casting another glance at the sweet face beside him, and stroking one of her curls out of her face, smiling at the softness of her skin, he pulled her gently to him; enveloping her body with his, ignoring the confusion of his feelings, satisfied that he did everything he could to make her warm and comfortable. He breathed in her fragrance, and it calmed him in a way he hadn't experienced for a long time.

It wasn't long before he drifted off into a sound sleep …

TBC…

_So, my dear ones, I do hope this was a chappi to your liking. I thought after all these actions and disputes, it is about time to bring something sweet into the story-line. And believe me, after the last dangerous situations our two Head-Students found themselves in, they are beginning to understand how valuable such soothing moments are._

_I also hope that I caught Lucius Malfoy the way he maybe is after the war and after he has to build up his new life, especially if it is difficult for someone to accept another way of view, so much apart from his former way of thinking. I, personally, think it was a clever move of the film-/movie-producers to show him weakened by searching comfort in some alcohol. Many powerful people are thinking that it is a solution to find some forgetting in whisky, and so on, and why should Lucius be otherwise? (And I have to say that Jason Isaac put up a very incredible action in this way.)_

_In the next chapter something old / new will arise and Draco and Hermione will learn something more about the abilities of their Egyptian fallow-students._

_Until then have a nice week,_

_I would so, so love to get some new reviews,_

_Love you all,_

_Yours Lyhwn_


	25. Dumbledore's Army rises again

_Dear Readers,_

_Sorry that it lasted a little bit longer until the next part comes now to an update, but even if Cheetah and I love to live our hobbies, job comes first. But – as we are saying in Germany – to wait makes the curiosity grow._

_So, I don't want you to wait any longer, not taking the risk that you burst with impatience, I 'release' you now to the story._

_Have fun, thank you so, so much for all the reviews; I am glad that not only the story-line and the processing is to your liking, but that the characters are like you are used to them even during the changes they undergo._

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 24 Dumbledore's Army rises again**

Hermione groaned, as the ache in her neck and shoulder told her she'd slept in an unfamiliar position. Curled up on the sofa with Crookshanks at her feet and a blanket spread over her, she woke the next morning to a dark fireplace, a cool common room, and a stormy day. In front of her, she could only see the fireplace and the overly broad seat of her sofa. The silver couch and the table seemed to have vanished.

Too fuzzy to think about it, she yawned and rubbed her eyes, and opened them a second time. Strange ... why the open space between her couch and the opposite wall? Raising her head – _ouch, that hurts_ – she looked about and found the missing furniture pushed aside. On the table stood two empty glasses, between them a half-empty bottle. The silver sofa had been relocated behind it, at the wall beside the entrance. The faint noises from the bathroom told her that her partner was showering. One look at the mantelpiece clock told her that she would never make it to breakfast in time – only ten minutes until the tables in the Great Hall were cleared.

Moaning and confused, Hermione stretched herself, rubbed her toes against Crookshanks, and pulled the comforter higher, while she repositioned on the soft pillow that had a familiar pleasant scent. She didn't remember much, only that she and Malfoy had talked about the events in Hogsmeade and about the Egyptians, and then …

Well, nothing. She must have fallen asleep, thanks to her exhaustion and the excellent sherry, but even though after nine o'clock, she didn't feel rested. Her limbs felt leaden, her neck was stiff as a board, and several bruises from the day before were vying for her attention. Her eyes were prickly from the crying she had done, and her throat was sore. The ugly dispute with Ron popped into her head, and, not ready to face _that_ memory just now, she shoved them aside and wrapped herself in the warm, woollen comforter and took in its rich emerald colour that…

Emerald?

A _green_ blanket?

Hermione raised her head again and peeked down at the material. Yes, a deep forest green. NOT burgundy. So, she had slept under a Slytherin blanket – oh no! Then she gave a mental shrug. Why not? It was only a comforter, for pity's sake, and she should be grateful that Malfoy obviously cared enough about her to cover her with his comforter, instead of letting her lie there and get cold. A small smile stole across her face as this thought reached her still sluggish consciousness. Draco had donated his comforter, even loaned her one of his pillows – she finally recognized the scent as his – once again showing a more compassionate side. And realizing he'd thoughtfully fetched his _own_ bedding for her was gratifying. "What do you think, Crooks?" she whispered. "Did our big bad Slytherin hide this side of himself for seven years, or did he just recently find it?"

The half-Kneazle meowed and whipped his tail, yawning. Hermione sighed and lay back again, enjoying all the room she had to stretch out on … _All the room?_

She then saw that her ottoman had been enlarged, its seats had twice or thrice their usual width, offering more than enough space for a second person …

She sat bolt upright. Draco had _not only_ loaned her a blanket and pillow, he must have been ... sleeping beside her! And promptly her heart began to race and her mouth went dry. Beside her? Again? And why was she positive she had lain in his arms for the rest of the night?

And why was this thought giving her butterflies?

Crookshanks suddenly rose and stretched, facing the stairs. Hermione followed his gaze and saw the young wizard entering the common room, wearing black trousers and a black shirt under a silver grey sweater that matched his eyes; his hair still damp. He stopped when he saw she was awake, then he smirked. "Slept well?"

Blushing, the Head Girl murmured. "More or less." She winced as she made her neck crack, and rubbed the aching spot with an "Ouch!"

"Ah, that's what I was hearing in the bathroom. I thought the ceiling is ready to come down, but it was only your neck," he joked.

Was he teasing her? Yes, definitely. And it was nice. Impulsively, she returned the favour. "Well, I had to drown out your snoring," she said.

"A Malfoy never snores!" he said in mock outrage, glancing at her askance. He bent down to collect the glasses and the bottle. "So, headache?"

"No, the sherry worked." Hermione sat up and groaned, rotating her head right to left a few times.

She heard him chuckle. "I told you three times to go to bed, but you didn't listen." He cleaned the glasses with a poke of his wand, and topped off the bottle with the refilling charm. "Hurry up, Granger, I'm starving."

"Just your luck, Malfoy. Breakfast is over." She slid out from under the comforter ... and slid ... and slid some more. The sofa reminded her more of a bed than a couch. "And thanks for the cover. I certainly would be chilled to the bone by now," she said, suddenly shy. He gave her another genuine smile that made her breath catch in her throat. She was sure if she didn't keep her eyes averted, her knees would melt under her.

He was pleased. Receiving a legitimate and heartfelt "thank you" felt good. "I would have gotten one of yours, but that crazy bint guarding your door wouldn't let me in," he explained.

Hermione pursed her lips. "Well, she is a bit stern from time to time."

"Stern? She was about to scream bloody murder at me, I thought it wiser to retreat as quickly as possible, before she woke you up."

She looked straight at him. "So you took a pillow and blanket from your room." She saw pink creeping into his cheeks. "Let me guess: my sofa is more comfortable than yours?" It was an inquiry requiring an answer.

Draco cleared his throat; seeing that she knew. "Well, the fire was still warm and… And my sofa was in the way … I didn't want your nightmares to come ba… I mean, we both had …" His words now failed, and Hermione felt an urge to simply pull him into a hug, which she still dare not do.

"Thank you again," she repeated, "thank you for looking after me."

He gulped – those eyes would soon undo him! – and nodded, then turned away from her and set about putting the room to rights. Hermione squeaked and jumped up, as the sofa beneath her started to move, joined by Crookshanks.

Malfoy allowed a chuckle. There she stood, clad in wrinkled pyjamas, hair like a thunderstorm, barefoot and sleep still in her eyes. She was simply… cute. Remembering the moment he woke and felt her beside him, one of her arms still around him, one leg pushed trustingly between his, his heart accelerated. He couldn't remember when he had woken up alongside someone. Maybe when he was five, with his mother. And that one night after the battle, when the nightmares had come, his mother had held him then, but there was just no comparison. How wonderful to find someone beside him. And not just any someone, but his little lion-cub. In that moment, he felt even more closely bonded to her, and he didn't mind it a bit. He didn't even question the fact that it wasn't the simple lust he'd always felt before, but something warmer, deeper, friendlier, and he was happy with the fact that this witch had started to mean much more to him.

"Great way to wake up," she grumbled, looking at the furniture rearranging itself, and he laughed; feeling more at ease every minute in her company.

"Sorry, Granger, but we really must hurry if we want breakfast."

Attempting to comb her hair with her fingers, Hermione repeated, "I already told you, genius, breakfast is over, as of … right now!" She nodded towards the clock.

Draco looked up and sighed. Then, as everything was returned to its original position, the penny dropped. "So, care to repay me for my generosity last night?" he asked, knowing what she would do next.

And he was right. The girl had just picked up the comforter, and stopped in the middle of the movement, curls bouncing around her shoulders, eyes wide. She looked at him with severe annoyance, provoked to a sigh. "Slytherins!" she snorted.

He laughed – she'd taken the bait! "No, not that. We're both hungry, and since you've made friends in the kitchen, perhaps you could convince them to give us some late breakfast." He sat on his sofa, legs crossed, and picked off an imaginary piece of lint from his trousers.

Folding the comforter, Hermione glanced at him. "You know, all you have to do is to ask them politely. They love it when the students ask them for favours." Here she stood in her wrinkled pyjamas, talking to Draco Malfoy about house elves, and she didn't mind. _'__Yes, I've lost all sense of proportion.'_

"And this from you," he grinned, "and I was sure you'd call me on the carpet for suggesting they do additional work!"

"S.P.E.W. is not about them doing work, but treating them like _slaves_. Well, not here in Hogwarts, I know, but … _Crookshanks_!"

The half-Kneazle had strolled slowly towards the Head Boy, seated and relaxed, and had been considering him now for several moments with his large, knowing eyes, then suddenly leapt onto Malfoy's lap. The Slytherin-Prince yelped and sat stiffly, not daring to move a muscle, while Crookshanks keenly examined him with golden eyes, paws on his chest, then settled into a ball on his lap. "Granger, could you please remove your crazy familiar?" he asked warily, and glared when his partner covered a sudden guffaw with her hand.

"He likes you, Malfoy. Just sit with him a bit until I'm ready. I'll be right back and we can go to go to the kitchen." She laid the comforter on her sofa, fluffed the pillow and plopped it on top, and headed toward the stairs.

"Granger, you can't be serious!" His voice had a desperate edge.

Hermione glanced back and winked: "Be not afraid, oh mighty Prince of Slytherin. He will not harm thee!" The expression on his face was priceless.

"You can't let me alone with this… this thing!" he begged.

"Don't be such a baby, Malfoy. You are one of a very small circle of those he likes!" With these words, she was up the stairs – still giggling – and Draco stared down on the scruffy ball with claws on his lap.

"She did this on purpose!" he whispered, still afraid to move. He'd had a few encounters with the cat since the beginning of the school term, and knew exactly how sharp those claws were, and how quickly it could strike. "Damn it, Granger, I didn't know you had it in you – this is worthy of a Slytherin!" he growled and her laughter reached him before the door closed behind her.

It wasn't long before he was wearing a wide grin as he stroked the thick fur of the purring half-Kneazle without even trying.

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A scant half hour later, the two stood before the still-life fruit basket at the entrance to the kitchen, Draco still finding stray cat hairs on his black clothes. Hermione tickled the peach, whereupon it promptly started to giggle, then the picture swung aside and revealed the entrance stairs down to the large bustling kitchen, located directly under the Great Hall. Though some of the "appliances" could be dated back to the founding of the school, the elves managed to provide excellent nosh for all the students, teachers, staff and guests, even without electricity, microwave and pressure cookers. But, who needs electricity when you have magic?

And there were no creatures more magical than these, and none more than waist high. They all had curious features and huge eyes, and were chattering happily among themselves when the two entered. They stopped in the middle of their work, watching them with large eyes. Hermione smiled. "Good morning, my friends. We apologize for disturbing you, but… see… we kind of… well… overslept and are quite hungry-" She didn't have a chance to finish as more than a dozen house-elves raced towards them, squeaking greetings and pulling them to one of the many tables, still holding tea, cocoa, bread, marmalade, honey, muffins, pumpkin juice and all things mouth-watering that they'd prepared for breakfast.

Hermione laughed, as two elves pushed a chair behind her and another for Draco, whose disoriented expression made her laugh again. She was determined to put the ugly episode with Ron aside for now, and to enjoy the impromptu breakfast and the pleasant company of her Head-partner. She watched the eager little servants bringing dishes, plates, and glasses as if there were a dozen students to feed, even two napkins appeared on their laps. And the whole time the little faces beamed with pleasure and adoration toward the witch, while others glanced hopefully at the tall young wizard.

But there was one elf missing. "Where is Kreacher?" Hermione eventually asked between bites. "Is he here?"

It was Peachy who responded. "Kreacher was not feeling completely well, Miss. It is said that last night that Kreacher met powerful beings, and today Kreacher feels dizzy."

Malfoy lifted a brow, looking straight at his partner, before he addressed the small elf: "Powerful beings at night? What did they look like?"

The saucer eyes blinked at him, then another house elf whispered uncomfortably, "We here in the kitchen do not know. Kreacher came back in the middle of the night. He appeared as if afraid and trembled with much trembling. Kreacher said 'they shouldn't be here' and vanished to his bed. Kreacher did not come out this morning, and he only lies in his bed and looks at the wall and shivers."

Hermione used her napkin and rose. "Please, show me where he is, Peachy. I must talk to him."

The elves surrounding them looked at one another in hesitation, then their little chambermaid slid her small hand into Hermione's and pulled her along. "Dear Miss shall come with Peachy. Peachy shows her." Draco followed them warily.

Peachy led them through a door in the back of the kitchen, which led to many smaller rooms lower down, each with tiny beds, chairs and trunks, allowing the tiny sprites a bit of privacy in a room their own size. The two students had to duck as they passed into one of the rooms, where a small open fireplace provided light and heat. In one of the beds, a comforter covered a small figure, only the large ears were exposed.

"Kreacher is there!" Peachy whispered and pointed before she retreated. "Please, dear lady and noble young master, be careful not to strike your heads. The ceiling is not made for you." Draco was already rubbing his scalp, having had his first encounter with the castle stone overhead.

Hermione crouched down by the bed. "Kreacher?" she asked gently. When there was no reaction, she reached out and placed a hand on the body. "Kreacher," she repeated – and fell over backwards when the old house-elf rose with a startled yelp. Malfoy, who was crouched behind her, caught her and set her back up. "Th-thanks," the she stuttered, flustered at feeling one hand curled around her waist, the other far too close to a breast. Blushing again, she cleared her throat. "Uh… Malfoy…?"

She couldn't look at him, but she heard the smirk. "You're welcome, 'dear lady'." He released her after a second or so too long, his warm breath at her cheek, his scent again filling her senses. Cheeks reddening, she straightened as far as she could in this low room; her skin burned where his arms arms and hands had been only a moment before – a burning that settled in her belly and spread through her limbs. She gulped, recognizing the sensation for what it was: desire.

Kreacher stared at his two visitors, realizing who stood in the chamber, and bowed hastily, greeting them with the respect that was so typical of his race. Hermione, whose heart was still thumping, crouched beside him again and smiled gently, pushing forbidden imaginations far away to edge of her mind. "Kreacher, I'm glad to see you." Her voice wasn't hoarse, was it? She cleared her throat. "Peachy and the others said you had a frightening experience last night."

It was plain to see the old elf was embarrassed. "The noble lady shouldn't think Kreacher does not wish to work. Kreacher is most happy to work at Hogwarts and to serve the students." Hermione shook her head, and encouraged him with a look to continue. "Last night … Kreacher was too upset and would have broken dishes…" He stopped and looked crestfallen. "Kreacher is getting old, Miss and Master."

"We will all grow old, if allowed," Hermione answered softly. "And you know that Master Malfoy and I know only too well how nasty experiences can rob your strength." She tentatively reached out to stroke the back of a finger over Kreacher's cheek, which felt like old parchment. He looked at her with wide eyes and sniffled, something like love shining on his face ancient ugly face.

Draco cut in, seeing the lake of tears forming in the elf's eyes, and desiring to prevent it. "Can you describe what you saw?" He knew they could weep a very long time, and it was shrill and unbearable. He also knew it would upset Hermione, the last thing he wanted.

Overhearing his own thoughts, his eyes widened. Bugger, had he become soft! And that all for this bloody… courageous, smart, beautiful and sweet witch, who had gotten past the wall of his young heart. _God help him, he was lost!_

The old-house elf sniffled, collecting his thoughts, and answered, "Kreacher helped to clean the corridor in front of the hospital wing, and it was there that Kreacher saw them. And he felt them. And there was darkness, and there was light. And there was something, Kreacher never felt before. It made Kreacher very afraid," he admitted in a tiny grumbly voice and Hermione and Draco bent forward.

"What did you see, Kreacher? Please tell us as best you can," the he asked politely, still feeling peculiar addressing a servant like this. But if he didn't want an enraged Hermione in his face, he had to act the part. She really had a soft spot for the house-elves, which... could be ... from time to time ... cute. Like she was.

Cute?

Again? He was a _Slytherin_ and -

Well, his house identity didn't really matter anymore. This little Miss Know-It-All was _cute_, and that was that!

His attention was directed back to the house-elf when it began to speak. Dressed in his pristine little tunic, he had sat up on the edge of the bed, twisting his hands in the comforter. "Kreacher saw tall figures with strange heads. Kreacher saw something like Master Sirius when he changed, as when Master Sirius was still alive. And Kreacher saw a ... a cat." He shook his head, flapping his oversized ears. "Kreacher didn't like it. Oh no, Kreacher was afraid."

Hermione and Draco glanced at each other. Bastet and Anubis! And Kreacher had felt their eternal breath, as they had in Hogsmeade. "Did you call the headmistress, or another professor?" the girl asked softly.

The distressed eyes met hers. "Kreacher did not dare to wake the noble Headmistress. But Kreacher met the man from the far-away land, who instructs the students how to combat the wicked magic, and he told Kreacher that he would take care of it."

The Gryffindor and the Slytherin looked at each other. So, Abdelghani promised to 'take care of' the 'shadows'? Here was the connection they had been looking for between. 'Ghani and the shadows: he belonged with them – who ever 'them' was! After all, 'them' appeared in forms peculiar to his homeland.

"Thank you, Kreacher, you have helped us a lot," Hermione smiled at the elf, who blinked several times.

"Kreacher did, Miss?"

"Yes. Master Malfoy and I know about those creatures you saw, and we are trying to solve their riddle. I do think you gave us a way to hunt them down." She rose to a crouch. "Remain in bed, Kreacher, and sleep if you can. I'm certain the others will understand, and that Harry would want you to do the same."

Kreacher cocked his head. "Master Harry Potter must be told, Miss –"

"I'll tell him, Kreacher, so, no fretting!" Bending down, Hermione placed a quick kiss on the crêpe cheek. "Sleep well and feel better," she whispered and left with Draco, who looked back one last time. The tiny house-elf still sat on the side of his bed, one hand over the place, where the Head-Girl had kissed him, his eyes spilling over with tears and happy shock on the little old face.

Malfoy shook his head, sighing. The girl certainly had a winning manner. And, as he watched her finding their way back to the kitchen, her curls more like a lion's mane, he knew that she had won even him. She had him, more or less, in the palm of her very competent hands that … that could really throw a punch, as he remembered with a grin! It really hurt all those years back, when she boxed him square in the face, but then she always was a wildcat. That much hadn't changed. It was only another side of her he liked.

When they returned to the kitchen, they each took a large slice of fresh bread, and then turned to leave, despite the protests of the other elves. They'd learned enough from Kreacher to act immediately.

"I'm going to see Harry and Ginny. They have to know what happened last night. Maybe you should check on the notes I left you on the table of our common room. There are also some copies from the _Times_, a Muggle newspaper, referring to some intruders and raids on Muggle museums where Egyptian artefacts have been stolen – all since the time our dear guests arrived in northern Europe. We also should-"

"Granger?" She stopped her rambling as she reached the staircase and turned around. He was smirking. "Where are you going?"

She blinked and frowned. "To the Gryffindor tower. I just told you that I want to see Harry and Gin-"

"If you want to see Wonder Boy and the Weaslette, you should fetch a warm jacket and jog on down to the Quidditch pitch. They have practice this morning." He chuckled at her surprised expression. "Trust me, I know exactly when a rival team is training," he added, pulling her with him toward their dormitory. "Secondly, I'll read your notes later. First I have to check something else while you talk to your friends." Draco ignoring her glance, they finally reached the floor where their dormitory was located, and he turned to her. "Bye, Granger, see you around – hopefully with some news." He was about to leave when he stopped one last time. "Oh, and by the way: I liked it."

She frowned. "Liked what?"

The widest grin she'd seen on him yet spread over his face: " 'Master Malfoy'. You can address me like that from now on."

The reaction came promptly. "In your dreams, Malfoy!"

He laughed. "Shame! See you – and kick the Weasel in the ass for me if he gets rude again."

Hermione watched him go. Was he trying to cheer her up? Yes he was, and it set the butterflies in her stomach aloft again. She cleared her throat. "If I had kicked _your_ butt every time you were rude to me, you wouldn't have been able to sit for the most of our school career."

He had already reached the landing, and bent down over the wooden balustrade, chuckling, ignoring the younger students on the floor above him and the perplexed inhabitants of the portraits, who looked in astonishment at the friendly bickering instead of subdued hostility. "So it was my butt you were aiming for in our third year, and not my nose?" he called down to her. "With your _fist_? How naughty! Tsk, tsk, Granger, you're full of surprises! If only I'd known it earlier…" He rushed away, cutting off the tirade before it started. Then he stopped. Had he really _teased_ her openly and ... in public?

A glance at the portraits gave him the answer. Yes, he had. And it felt bloody _good_!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

While Draco left on his own mission, Hermione, amused by the strange but welcome behaviour of her partner, found her jacket and ran towards the Quidditch pitch where Harry and the his team were practising. The rain had paused for awhile, and the team had taken advantage of it. She had to report to her friends what they'd heard from Kreacher. She tasted bile when she remembered the quarrel Ron and she had, but she hoped that he had calmed down by now.

It was not to be. She arrived just as practice ended, and while Harry and Ginny greeted her with a hug, asking about her morning, Ron only glared at her and passed her by without a word.

"He's still angry," Ginny whispered and Hermione sighed, making a face.

"Y'think?" Then she sighed. "I have to talk with you. We learned something new about our problem from Kreacher."

Harry, still out of breath and sweating, cocked his head. "Kreacher told you something? Wait for us, Hermione. Ginny and I are going to change." They retreated into the changing area and Hermione waited impatiently on the bench beside the entrance. When they returned in regular clothes, Quidditch togs in satchels and brooms over their shoulders, Ron was with them and shot Hermione another heated glance. Ignoring him, she rose and beckoned for them to follow her. Ronald stopped. "Where are you going?" he asked Harry, who lifted a brow.

"To a place a bit more private. Mione learned something from Kreacher and-"

"So why doesn't she tell it to her new 'friend'?"

His tone hurt, but she didn't react. "Draco already knows because Kreacher told us both during breakfast."

"Breakfast? I thought you missed it." Ginny looked at her curiously, ignoring her brother.

"We both overslept," she explained, careful to keep her expression neutral. The returning realization of him sleeping beside her woke new warmth in her. "So we walked to the kitchen and while we were there, Kreacher told us about the shadows. They-" She hesitated, then waved and smiled at another Gryffindor player, as he passed, returning his greeting. Then she began again, her voice lowered. "They returned last night. Kreacher was cleaning the hallways with the other elves, and then he saw them: Anubis and Bastet."

"They were out again? Did he report to the professors on patrol?" Harry asked, ignoring Ron's dark glare when Hermione mentioned that she and Malfoy had _both_ overslept.

Hermione grimaced. "He crossed paths with Abdelghani, who instantly promised to 'take care' of it." She crossed her arms, eying her three friends closely. "They were up to something last night, I'm sure of it."

Ginny pursed her lips. "Neriman was exhausted this morning. I could hardly wake her up and she went right back to bed after breakfast. And I'll bet if we asked about Edis, I'm sure we'd hear the same about him. I think it's about time to act."

Harry nodded. "Yeah. As long as one of the teachers is hand-in-glove with them, they're covered. McGonagall trusts Abdelghani and if we tell her about some ... shadows shaped like ancient Egyptian gods, she would certainly toss us out on our proverbial ears. We'll have to act on our own. But then, we're used to it." He stared toward the foggy mountains, lost in thought, then took a deep breath. "Right." He nodded. Three pairs of eyes turned toward him. "It's time to reactivate Dumbledore's Army!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They were a small group in the late afternoon. Most of the members of the D.A., no longer secret, were no longer attending Hogwarts. Dumbledore's Army once had twenty five members, among them Neville Longbottom, the Parvati sisters, the Weasley twins, most of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and several students from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Now only seven met in an empty study room near the library: our trio, Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Justin Finch-Fletchley from Huffelpuff (who was repeating his seventh year) and Dennis Creevey, who was now a fifth year and the younger brother of Collin Creevey, killed in the Battle of Hogwarts.

One thing was clear: they had to recruit new members from all of the houses if this was to work properly. Of course, no one could imagine that they would find a Slytherin for their army – no one except Hermione, who kept silent about it. She thought Draco Malfoy might support them, even if he didn't join Dumbledore's Army.

Harry lit several lanterns to chase away the twilight. The afternoon sky was dark with thick clouds and another downpour. Harry welcomed them all, and filled the others in with the details of what they had witnessed over the last weeks. Luna only nodded, the Nargles – whatever they were – had already informed her. Dennis and Justin told of the rumours among the younger students about disembodied shadows and a feeling of being watched. Hermione finally reported the episode of the jackal-like animal that came to her and Malfoy's rescue in the alley in Hogsmeade and in the Forbidden Forest.

"So, our visitors are masquerading as gods from their own culture?" Dennis asked, clearly confused.

"They have to be Animagis," Justin mused. "Does McGonagall know about this?"

Ginny shook her head. "No, I'm certain she doesn't. She would have given specific instructions to the Prefects and the senior students if she knew."

"That doesn't mean that she and the portraits haven't heard anything about it," Harry interjected, shaking his head. "I've noticed that the teachers always seemed to know what is going on in and around Hogwarts, usually without telling us." He was remembering a discussion he'd overheard between McGonagall, the Fudge and Madame Rosmerta in the _Three Broomsticks_ concerning him and Sirius Black. They'd thought Sirius had killed Harry's parents and was about to murder him, too.

"It doesn't fit!" Justin said. "First there were animal shadows that chased away the werewolf that attacked you and Malfoy in the Forbidden Forest. Then you, Harry, saw them with Hermione and Malfoy, along with a cat that tamed Mrs. Norris – something I personally would love to see. And then an oversized jackal rescues you, Hermione." He shook his head. "They could just be running a scam on us. Or they're really up to something serious, regarding the fact that they stroll through the hallways at night. There's no way to know yet."

Hermione spoke up. "Several weeks ago I caught two of your house in the hallway, and they were the first to see the shadows here in Hogwarts. They couldn't make out definite shapes, but they were certainly spooked. They showed me the place where they'd seen them, and I saw a long legged black cat strolling away – the same cat we saw later in the hall, the same cat that attacked Rabastan Lestrange yesterday and saved Malfoy, and the same cat Kreacher saw last night in the corridor near the hospital wing." The others absorbed this news, while Ginny and Harry nodded. Ron only grunted.

"What was it doing near the hospital wing?" Luna asked, her large eyes mildly puzzled.

"The cat wasn't alone. A wolf-like creature was there, too," Hermione added and Dennis frowned. "But what were they doing at the hospital wing? If-"

"They were healing Abdel!"

The voice came from the shadow at the door, and that moment, the Head-Boy stepped around the corner. Instantly Justin and Ron jumped up, wands drawn. Hermione and Ginny turned to look at the intruder. Only Harry remained calm, watching his old school-nemesis warily.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Ron spat, eyes flashing.

"Is that any way to greet a guest?" Malfoy sneered, and then addressed Harry: "You should put a silencing charm around your little club meeting, Potter. I could hear you halfway down the hall."

Harry narrowed his eyes, but knew the Slytherin was right. He had grown lazy after the war ended, or he would have thought of this simple precaution himself. Pointing his wand at the door, he pronounced, "_Muffiliato,_" then turned his attention to the other young man. His hands empty and relaxed at his sides, an unreadable expression on his aristocratic face, he stood tall and apparently unconcerned in what was, historically for him, the lion's den. Harry leaned on the desk and crossed his arms. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

He looked about at the small number. "So, it's back to Dumbledore's Army then. You lost members, didn't you?"

Several stony glares were thrown in his direction. Ron, his face approaching the colour of his hair, asked heatedly, "How did you find us?"

Malfoy gave him a look of disgusted dismissal. "I heard your voices. And because no one uses a study hall on a Sunday afternoon for a chat. So I knew you must be here for another reason. One, I'm sure, which concerns us all." His eyes lingered on Harry, his face a calm mask. "You were asking about the reason for the visitors to be in in the hospital wing so late last night? They healed Abdel."

"They _healed_ him?" This was Hermione. "How? And how do you know about it?"

The hint of a smirk played around his lips, as he replied: "I told you that I wanted to check something. I visited the hospital wing and our eager Healer was completely beside herself, because Abdel had healed miraculously overnight. His back is whole again, and after she ran some of her ersatz 'tests' on him, she dismissed him late this morning." He shifted his weight to the other foot. "He explained to her that he is practiced at self-healing, and that it wouldn't be the first time he had a wound that healed like this."

"And she believed him?" Justin asked curiously.

Draco shrugged. "She called Abdelghani, who is, after all, responsible for his students. He confirmed that Abdel, who belongs to the same house he was in, does indeed have remarkable powers of self-healing. She had no other choice than to believe him."

Harry ran his fingers through his unruly black hair in a habitual attempt to flatten it. "So, Neriman and Edis went to heal their friend. I can't blame them for that." Here he addressed the rest of them. "But why change into their animal forms again? I learned from Sirius that it takes a lot out of you to transform, so why-"

"They don't have an invisibility cloak, Potter. Two students out and about in Hogwarts at night attract more attention than two pets – even a dog, and dogs aren't allowed here."

Some of them nodded in agreement.

"I never heard of a healing spell that works so quickly as what they must have done to Abdel," Ginny murmured. "And I'll bet Madame Pomfrey hasn't either."

"Did anyone tell Professor McGonagall?" Harry asked Malfoy.

He leaned against a desk, relaxed. "Yes, Pomfrey said that our headmistress was as surprised as she was, but there was no reason to ask further questions. Abdel healed himself, Abdelghani confirmed his abilities, end of story – officially."

"Have you talked to Abel?" Hermione watched him. She had known that he would support them – one way or the other.

Draco shook his head. "No, he's still sleeping in his room."

"So…" Harry began slowly, "what does this tell us – about them and their abilities?" He looked around and again it was Malfoy, who answered.

"A lot! We can't underestimate them. That would be a mistake. They're powerful enough to scare _Greyback_ half out of his mind!"

"They know other spells and charms, too" Hermione confirmed.

Luna bent forwards. "Yes, he used binding spell that made two Death Eaters into mummies." Her large blue eyes were looking at no one in particular, but they'd lost their dreamy expression. They were unusually clear and stern.

"What?" asked a trio of voices.

This time, Harry, Ron and Draco looked at her, puzzled. None of them had heard about this until now. Then Potter looked at Draco, making his decision. "Right. We all need to tell each other everything we've seen since we got back to school. Everything, every detail. We all need to be on the same page." He flicked his wand and a chair came sliding towards them. "Have a seat, Malfoy," he said carefully. Malfoy raised a brow, but accepted the invitation.

"Hold it!" Ron growled. "You want _him_ in our meeting?"

"Draco is in the middle of this, the same as we are," Hermione growled. "And he witnessed the appearances of … whatever they are. So, yeah, Harry should invite him."

"I didn't ask you. How you feel about him is no secret!" he responded angrily.

Fury turned her face red, and Malfoy opened his mouth to respond, but Harry interrupted. "Ron, Hermione, enough! This is not about you. So, please, let it go." He looked at the Slytherin who was glaring at the Ron, while he stood protectively next to Hermione. For the first time, Harry asked himself if there might be something more between the girl, who was like a sister to him, and her Head-partner. But this wasn't the time for such speculations. He pointed at the chair. "Please, Malfoy, join us. This concerns us all."

With another icy look at Ron, Draco sat stiffly between Hermione and Luna, feeling completely out of place. Here he sat, with the remaining members of Dumbledore's Army, a club founded by his long-time school enemy, whom he fought for three years. Now he had joined one of their meetings, giving up information to them. And, worse than that, he was toying with the idea of ripping off Ron Weasley's head for insulting little Miss-Know-It-All. Could this get any more peculiar?

Yes, it could.

TBC…

_So, my dear Readers, the story plunges now in the next part – not only concerning our cute bookworm and her Slytherin-partner, but also concerning the miraculous events in and around Hogwarts._

_In the next chapter several riddles will be explained and a history will be revealed that concerns all…_

_I do hope you enjoyed the new chapter and I would so love to get some more reviews._

_Love you all,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	26. Their History Revealed

_My dear Readers,_

_And again I'm terrible sorry that the new update comes this late, but there was lot to do for Cheetah to check the text properly, and if you have finished this chapter, you certainly will understand the reason why._

_Thank you so, so much for all the nice reviews; I'm simply happy that the story becomes such a run now. More than 15.000 readers now! WOW!_

_At this juncture I want to refer to the horrible events which happen in the real Egypt in the moment. I do love this country very much, as you certainly noticed (smile) and it pains me a lot to see how the peaceful demonstrations have changed into mortal danger, driven forward by men, who intrinsically should protect the people. I do hope that peace will find its way back into the land of Nile quickly and that the losses will become more less and stop completely._

_To read and to write now a story about an Egyptian wizard, whose fallows want to rule the world, sounds a little bit awkward, but then – on the other hand – this here is only fantasy and shall give the fans of a certain literature joy, entertainment and diversion._

_In this sense enjoy with the next chapter, in which a 'history' and plots are revealed._

_Have fun,_ _Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 25 – Their Histories Revealed**

The eight students took turns telling everything they could remember of what they'd heard, seen and felt during the last few weeks, including the unfamiliar Egyptian defensive spells. Because all four houses were now present, they also compared notes about their four guests and their habits. Justin had noticed that Layla, when not in class or doing homework, seemed to spend her time alone or lost in thought. Neriman's love of cats and her influence on them were legendary around the school, but Ginny and Hermione pointed out that Neriman also was obviously quite fond of Abdel. Draco knew that Abdel always tried to make things right, that he was very observant and somehow protective. He also was knowledgeable about potions and their essences, telling about the episode in the potions classroom, trying to find out what Granger had poisoned him with, learning from the other that it was only Tabasco sauce. The others laughed at this, and Hermione had the good sense to blush. Luna murmured: "That was not very nice." Then she told of Edis, how he always seemed to have some dark but peaceful aura about him, and how he loved to consider everything and everyone, to take their measure, and pronounce judgment.

"Perhaps he's training to become a lawyer?" Justin mused, but Harry shook his head.

"Anubis wasn't only the god of death, but he also judged the dead. He decided if the soul would walk in darkness for all time, or if it would walk awhile in the afterlife, ready to be re-born some day." He glanced at Luna, who nodded. If someone had the sensitivity to feel things the others couldn't, it was she.

"So, it's your theory that the basic characteristics of those gods, represented by their houses, are demonstrated in them, as well?" Dennis asked doubtfully. "Could that be the reason why they chose those Animagis forms?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not," Malfoy said thoughtfully. "It could be that they've identified themselves so closely with those ancient personalities that they've aligned their thinking and actions to reflect what they suppose the ancients would do."

"Like a schizophrenic?" Hermione asked. Bewildered faces were turned toward her, so she explained, "It's a Muggle-term, referring to a person who seems to have two separate identities in one mind. This makes them behave in two completely different manners, as if he were not one, but two people. It's a kind of mental illness."

Ginny nodded. "I understand."

They seemed to have run out of things to share and the room grew quieter, all of them mulling over what they'd heard. Finally Justin took a deep breath and spoke up. "So, what's next?" He turned empty palms upward on his lap. "We have no proof of anything, we don't know what they're planning, nor what comes next."

"As we already said, Potter, we should keep an eye on all of them," Malfoy replied, turning toward Luna. "Lovegood, could you get any closer to Edis?" To everyone's surprise, she looked away, embarrassed, and then he chuckled: "Well, it wouldn't be a hardship, would it?"

Luna's pink deepened, and examined her hands in her lap. "I do not believe that Edis is up to anything evil. He is far too gentle and kind hearted, but I understand that we must learn more about them, if we want to know what's going on. So, yes, I will stay close." She looked up at Draco with wide trusting eyes, and it was Harry who noticed this.

Draco smiled wryly. "Only for the purpose of observation!" Malfoy nodded, grinning now.

Ginny groaned. "Men! It's all they ever think about!"

"And most women, otherwise they'd never figure out _what_ we're thinking about," came the amused reply, earning dirty looks from the girls and some amused guffaws from the other boys.

"So, Luna watches Edis," Harry interjected, trying to get everyone back on topic before a very old argument broke out. "Ginny," he smiled at his girlfriend, "you watch Neriman. She trusts you, so it should be convenient to stay close to her. For Layla, I think Justin can do the job, and maybe Phillip." Justin nodded agreement. "If one in particular is always about, she certainly will realize that we are up to something." His green eyes went to Malfoy. "And you must keep a close eye on Abdel."

"Already started," Draco confirmed.

"Right. Then let's meet again Friday, an hour before dinner. If anything happens during the week or one of you sees or hears anything relevant, contact me immediately. Use the coins."

"And one more thing," Ron finally spoke up. "As our numbers are seriously depleted, it's possible that a prefect or older student might be interested in joining our little group. Just feel out those you think might be interested, but use caution. The D.A. isn't forbidden anymore, but we don't want the teachers to get suspicious."

Dennis nodded toward the Head Boy. "What's about him? He knows about us."

"In case you hadn't noticed, Creevey, I'm here to help," Draco retorted, his grey eyes drilling the younger wizard. They swept the other faces. "This situation is probably not limited to Hogwarts, and we don't know its full extent. Along with it, there are still Death Eaters out and about, wanting to take revenge on us or our families. Our guests clashed with them, too. So they're involved. If we want to solve this riddle and protect our community, we'll have to work together."

"Huh, you're singing a new song, Malfoy!" Justin grumbled; remembering the sinister activities of the Slytherin during their last years.

"You're never too old to learn – and I learned a lot during the last months. And I'm certain most of this little group did the same. As our revered headmistress said, we are still four houses, but the rivalry should be only rivalry, and _not enmity_." His eyes found Ron, who had crossed his arms, the look of antipathy still obvious on his face. Shrugging, Draco looked away.

"So, you want to join us?" Luna was obviously surprised, possibly believing a wrackspurt had unknowingly entered her ear.

He shook his head. "I think that would be taking it a bit too far, but I'll back you up in this. We have to figure out what our DADA-professor and his charges are up to."

"I know, and not just him," she said softly. There was something in her eyes, a knowing that made him uneasy, and clearing his throat, he turned back to the rest of them. Only the two of them knew to what she was referring, but he wasn't ready to reveal it. It was bad enough that it was brought up during his trial, even if wasn't read in public. Luna seemed to understand this and nodded slowly.

Hermione sighed – she knew that Malfoy would help! – and exchanged a look with Harry, who was watching Luna closely. Harry made a mental note to ask the Ravenclaw-witch why she always was so at ease around Malfoy. After all, it wasn't that long ago she had been held captive in the cellar of his parent's manor home. Straightening, he rose. "All right, I guess that's it for today. Don't everyone leave at once, but one at a time."

Ginny rose as well. "Come with me, Mione. I got our bags back from McGonagall this morning – the ones we lost in Hogsmeade. The Aurors must have collected all the stuff we left behind and brought it to Hogwarts – after examining it, of course."

Hermione stared at her. "If they ruined my dress, I'll send them the bill!" she exclaimed, earning her a disbelieving look from her partner.

"You are concerned about a _dress_? Granger, what have you been smoking?"

"Be careful it's not _you_ that gets smoked," she answered, her eyes darkening mischievously, fingers curled into a fist.

He quickly clapped a hand over his nose. "Not again! I already admitted you could throw a hell of punch!"

"And don't you forget it!" she smirked, jabbing him lightly on his chest.

Harry watched the teasing between the two, then he smiled at Ginny and Hermione. "Until dinner."

Hermione nodded and looked one last time at Ron, who only stared at her darkly. She shrugged and left the room. Men! Was there _any_ way to understand them?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

While the small group of remaining members of Dumbledore's Army were gathered, someone slipped out the back gate of Hogwarts and headed toward the Black Lake. The clouds hung lowering, bathing the landscape in a grey twilight. Cold air breathed over the terrain and blew white crests onto the surface of the lake, while the mostly bear trees of the Forbidden Forest creaked in the wind.

The young witch pulled the warm jacket tightly about herself. She left the path to the lake as soon as she was out of sight of the castle. Scant minutes later, she crossed the border of the dark woods, quite dangerous and rightly named 'forbidden.' But she didn't halt, nor even hesitate. She had only gone another handful of steps when she stopped, whispered something and smiled. A moment later two spells bounced off her protective shield, enveloping her in red and then green – a green light that was certain death to the unprepared, the _Avada_-curse.

Eyes narrowed, she peered about her, then waved her hand toward a thicket. To her left, there was a groan, and the sound of a limp body falling. This was followed by a muttered curse in a low voice. "A greeting so much like the weather of this land, cold and violent," the young witch said flatly. "Are the followers of your Dark Lord such cowards, attacking a lone student from concealment?"

A challenge, one that would certainly have been answered with another killing curse – had the situation been different. There was a whisper of cloth to her right, and with an easy flick of her wand, the woman reacted. Immediately, the black-clad figure came hurling out of the bushes and landed in a heap at her feet; the silver mask was dislodged and fell in the dirt.

A low chuckle sounded from further down the path, and another figure emerged from the dark shadows – unmasked, but dressed the same. "I told you she's good," he said to the one at her feet. She lifted her head and revealed a cascade of red hair, her small eyes glared at him. Rabastan Lestrange smiled at his lover and then at the student. "Forgive the welcome, but my associates desired proof of the expertise I described."

"It appears they didn't believe you – their 'leader'," she answered, lip curled. Then she lifted a brow. "You came at least. But please, ask the other two to join us as well. It's hard to hear from such a distance."

Rabastan frowned – damn her! – then offered Venusia a hand to help her up. "If you prefer," he said to the other witch. Then he called over his shoulder: "Antonin, Fenrir, come forward!"

Greyback and Dolohov arrived, unmasked and grim. The werewolf stared hungrily at the student, a greedy look in his eyes, then he suddenly retreated a step. His nostrils flared and a low growl escaped him. This smell … it was wrong. This girl didn't smell like a normal human being. Rabastan lifted a brow. "Something wrong, Fenrir?" he asked and the werewolf jerked his head towards the young witch.

"There is more to her than she seems," he growled; his pale eyes never leaving hers.

"I told you that already," Rabastan replied impatiently, turning to face the young woman. "You said you would explain your unusual request for help." He felt a twinge of satisfaction when he saw the anger in her eyes at his choice of words, and continued: "We're here, so talk."

For a moment he thought she would lift her wand against him, and it was a testimony to his fortitude that he didn't flinch. Then she snorted – like a grown up chuckles at the behaviour of a little child – and pointed towards some fallen trees. "Take a seat. We might be here awhile." She glared at Greyback. "Take care that no one hears us, wolf. Your ears are the keenest, especially now, before the full moon." She moved toward him, and he bared his teeth. "Calm down, I am not your enemy. But you must want revenge on the jackal who frightened you so badly, humiliating you in front of half Hogsmeade." Something in her brown eyes soothed him, but also made his temper flare.

"We didn't come for _pity_, girl!" he snarled.

His scowl deepened when she chuckled, but her words had an edge. "Pity is for the weak. I speak of _vengeance_." She cocked her head as if listening to something only she could hear. Her dark brow lifted. "And the object of your desire!" she added, and held his gaze until turned away. Then to Lestrange: "You desire the dark fruit of vengeance as well. I want to bring back my ancestor as he predicted over three thousand years ago. You need me, I need you, so -"

"I do not need a schoolgirl to accomplish my purpose!" Rabastan stated, lip curled. "If your quest conforms with ours, only then we can discuss a collaboration."

To his astonishment she simply smiled. "You will need me – and those with me. Your group and my fellows work to the same future. But there are still hindrances which must be eliminated to the first. And heed my words: you _will_ need me and the others, in the end, to achieve your own goals. So, shall we talk, or must I force you, as in Hogsmeade?" She didn't even turn, but snarled sharply: "Do not touch your wand, wolf! I respect your kind, but I will not hesitate to destroy you, if you play me false!"

Lestrange signalled to Greyback to retreat, and he reluctantly obeyed, growling softly. Then Rabastan exchanged a look with Venusia, who shrugged and nodded, '_why not?' _They were losing members with every arrest the Aurors made, and additions to their diminishing group might be desirable. If they qualified.

"First," the young witch stated, "it is vital that no knowledge of what I am about to say reach other ears. It must be kept a secret. One word in the wrong direction and the whole mission will be in endangered."

"Are you certain that none of the other brats watched you, or suspect you?" Rabastan interrupted her. "Potter and company still attend that school, and that meddler has a nose for the unusual." His voice was calm, but the hatred obvious.

"If anyone makes us trouble, I will deal with them – regardless of identity," she told him nonchalantly. "Now hearken to me and I will tell you what you need to know! Before our kind had developed a culture in this part of the world, or even dared speak of it, magic was as natural to us in my homeland as the air we breathe. It was our religion, our daily routine, and was mingled in all our ceremonies. It was something native to us, even if only a few had the gift. And fewer had the gift of great magic, to perform spells, to control the world about them."

Rabastan nodded. They all knew that magic as it was used today was developed in antiquity.

"One of the most powerful was Penhuibin, a great magician who lived at the time of Ramses III, more than three thousand fifty years ago," she continued. "When still a youth, he knew the magnitude of his abilities, and approached the priests, hoping to use his gift in service to our kingdom. One of the high priests saw the talent in him, and soon the others did as well. They agreed, he was too powerful, and like most humans, they grew afraid of the boy. So they trained him in the lower, useless magic. Because he seemed to have a connection to animals, he made the overseer of the royal herds."

"Shame!" Venusia said. "And so typical of Muggles! Afraid of everything!"

The girl lifted a brow. "You should be aware that most priests knew magic as well, but they feared the darker power that was a gift from Aphopis, the essential darkness that was defeated by the light of Re at the beginning of all time."

Dolohov and Rabastan exchanged a quick look. The eternal battle of Light versus Darkness … oh yes, they knew well of what the strange girl spoke, even if the names of the Egyptian gods were new to them.

The girl stood formally, relating the story of her master to her potential allies. "For more than two decades he performed his duties, no challenge for a man like him. He learned not to question their decision after their severe rebukes. So he performed his duties to lull the priests and the pharaoh to forgetting about him, ignoring his training and his potential which they could have used in a multitude of situations. He used the vacant hours in the fields to school himself further and deeper in the magical arts. He learned, was trained by other wizards also hiding from the priests, and his proficiency increased exponentially. Even then, he wore the mask of menial servant to the pharaoh, awaiting the appropriate time.

"It came after the crops failed for several years, and the people of his country were now starving, enemies were approaching our borders. The pharaoh was old, and it was easy for Penhuibin to persuade the second wife of Ramses, Queen Tiy, who desired above life to see her own son on the throne. He manipulated many of the royal guards, and finally one of the pharaoh's obedient servants recalled the wizard, the one who watched the herds.

"This was the chance he had awaited for months: he was invited into the inner circle of those who planned the pharaoh's death, and used the opportunity to plunder the library of the palace where those documents were secured that held the keys to the darkest magic of all. Within months, he had absorbed the rest of the necessary knowledge that he needed."

She had their full attention. No one moved.

"On his command, clouds would cover the skies, winds turned to violent storms, rain would fall as blood. He could produce fires that could not be extinguished with water, he could stun with his will, and was able to do magic without his staff. But it wasn't enough. He wanted to rule not only Egypt, but all the lands about him. He was very close to his victory. He helped those whom you call 'Muggles' to rid themselves of Ramses III by draining his life from him – day by day – while Queen Tiy and several women from the harem poisoned the pharaoh. They succeeded in the end, but not because of the poison, as history tells today, but because of Penhuibin."

"Clever – could have been a Slytherin!" Antonin snickered, who seemed to be enjoying the tale more than the others. He earned impatient looks from the others for interrupting.

"Yes, Penhuibin was the example for Salazar Slytherin, even though millennia lay between them," the girl acknowledged, and continued.

"Now Penhuibin prepared the final step. After the pharaoh's death, there would be a powerful struggle among his sons, providing the perfect opportunity for the Great One to seize power and to join them to his will. It would have succeeded, if not for the traitor priests who recognized the traces of magic on the pharaoh's body as they prepared him for his eternal journey. It is told that Anubis himself revealed to them that magic was used against Ramses, and they quickly discovered who was responsible for the brilliant assassination.

She shook her head. "The tale is long, full of the tragedies and betrayals our kind has come to know for many years. But this is not the place to tell all." She bowed her head in contemplation, then raised it again, her eyes hooded. "Penhuibin was taken captive when palace guards stormed his chambers. He killed several of them before they overpowered him by their great number. They drugged him, took his staff and brought him to trial, where he demonstrated his superiority to them one last time: he made certain that he would return, on a special date that was associated with his death. He-" here her voice faltered, then she recovered. "He killed himself by using the ceremonial knife representing Rameses' presence at trial, even though dead. Knives bear a strong ceremonial significance in our religion, and carry the power of the moon. His Ba, what you might call the 'soul,' was captured in its blade at the moment of his departure." Her nostrils flared, and lips grew thin. "They burned his body and placed his ashes into an urn, then positioned the urn at Ramses' feet in his grave. The knife was brought to Anubis' temple, to keep it safe, but only weeks later the knife went missing. The authorities assumed that Penhuibin's wife or daughter arranged the theft, but no proof was ever found, no hint that they had done it, and the knife was gone."

"So, did the priests know that his … his soul was in the knife?" Rabastan asked, guessing where this story would lead. "Why didn't they destroy it?"

"They couldn't. The knife represented Ramses III and they were sure his presence would be enough to hold the Ba of Penhuibin at bay. They were wrong."

"So who took the knife?" Venusia asked, one eyebrow raised. She hadn't the faintest idea what this history had to do with their present situation. But she loved a good story, so she played along.

"Penhuibin had gathered many followers before he died. They managed to steal the knife and tried to keep it safe until the time for his re-birth."

"_Tried_?" Dolohov frowned. "What happened?"

She looked grim. "Over the centuries our country has experienced many drastic changes. Greeks ruled, later the Romans, who opened the old graves for entertainment and treasure. Then came a time of chaos when the old gods were displaced, and the new one came and still remains. Penhuibin's followers had built their own community, only allowing members of those wizard families whose blood ran with magic. They founded an inner circle, _Maa'Penhuibin_ – 'Loyal to Penhuibin' – trained their sons and daughters and avoided those, whose blood was not magic.

"But time never stands still! The _Ibnu-na-Salu, _those you call Muggles, living in the north, attacked our continent, something they called the 'crusades'. During that time, the _khalab amshaj_, those of mixed blood, grew in skill. The Halfbloods learned of us, attempted to 'acclimate' us – as if we needed dirty dogs to teach us how dangerous magic can be! As their power grew, they learned that we had the knife of Ramses III. They believed the legend of our history, and tried to steal it from us – something we could never allow. Penhuibin was still the core of our community, and we lived for the day of his return." The last part was only murmured, but she had eager listeners now, and Lestrange pursed his lips.

"We had much the same experience after the Dark Lord was stripped of his power, regaining it over a course of years," he added. Heads nodded in agreement. "But where does Salazar Slytherin fit into your happy little tale? And what is this debt you demand must be paid?" Rabastan was curious now.

The young witch snorted. "You are too impatient." She took a deep breath. "During these dark times, Slytherin made his way to our country. He had quarrelled with the other founders. Our leader met him and recognized the kindred soul to Penhuibin. Slytherin desired to learn even more of the Dark Arts in Egypt, to increase his abundant store of knowledge. He remained there for a year before he was beset by _inbu 'l-ghabi_, the Muggle pretenders, from England. They captured him as he did magic, and were planning to burn him at the stake.

"We stepped in, took him away, made him part of our circle for all eternity. During those days the Halfbloods and those you are calling 'Mudbloods' were closing in on us, trying to get the knife housing Penhuibin's soul and to destroy it. We were greatly outnumbered. Our leader had no choice. He entrusted Slytherin with the knife. Professor Slytherin knew and understood how important it was. He immediately attached himself to the concept of another strong wizard coming after him, battling to bring about a world controlled by those of pure blood. So he promised to keep it with him until that time it was safe to return it. He also accepted the life debt with a vow to our leader."

"He made a vow on a life debt?" Vesuiva snorted. "He must really have been attracted by your little community!"

A wry smile crept across her elegant features. "Perhaps he didn't trust any of the magicians in your corner of the world to be his successor, choosing to place his confidence on the day Penhuibin would return." Her eyes fell on Rabastan again. "Our leader and Slytherin never saw each other ever again. By the time our leader's eventual successor travelled to Great Britain, when it was finally safe for an oriental man to step on Britain's green shores after the crusades, Slytherin had been dead for more than three centuries and the castle he spoke of was gone. There was no trace of him nor any family. When he inquired of your wizarding community about the location of Slytherin's mortal remains or his home, no one knew, or they would not reveal it. He was not permitted into Hogwarts, and the headmaster of that time kept his silence, too, when he met our leader outside the gates out of courtesy."

"He gave up," Dolohov ventured.

She glared at him. "No! He died as he journeyed home, and only a younger wizard survived." She tossed her long hair. "But times have changed again. When we heard about your 'Dark Lord' and his power, we knew that he had to be an heir of Slytherin, possibly descended from Slytherin. But this heir was stripped of his power before our leader came to the decision to ask for his help. Then, we learned two years ago that he was regaining his strength, but our leader hesitated – until now. Now, as the time is running short, your 'Dark Lord' is dead!" Her voice was bitter.

Lestrange cocked his head. "Why is the time so short?" he asked silkily. He already knew the answer, but he was eager to hear it from the girl.

"Penhuibin named the exact date when he will return. 'I lived twenty eight years. One hundred thirteen days I was in power within these walls. One hundred thirteen years shall pass twenty eight times before I return' were his final words." Her eyes met each of theirs. "That date is in the April of next year – when the stars are ending their circle."

Three incredulous pairs of eyes bored into hers, before Rabastan controlled his surprise. "So what are you asking us to do for you and your 'community'?"

Her gaze never moved. "We need your help to uncover the remains of Slytherin's castle or his grave. He vowed to keep the knife with him. He made the Unbreakable Vow, and so he must have kept it with him."

For a long moment the three Death Eaters were silent, looking at each other, then Rabastan let out a harsh bark of laughter. "You _only_ want us to find Slytherin's castle! Or possibly his grave! Fantastic! Could you possibly guess how long we AND the Dark Lord have searched for them, you little bleedin' tart? Don't you know there've been generations of wizards and witches who've been trying to find where he vanished to?"

Mockery curled her lip. "Do you think me stupid? If this task were easy, I would not approach you, let alone ask for your help! You may have clues you haven't noticed, and we have … certain abilities we can use to locate his grave, but only when we're close. So, cooperation would benefit both of us."

"And why should we help you at all?" Dolohov blurted. "Slytherin may have made that accursed Unbreakable Vow to your community, but none of us were a part of it."

"Wrong," she replied softly. "You vowed fealty to your Dark Lord. You even wear his mark – and your Dark Lord _was_ the heir of Slytherin! The vow still holds sway over your destinies!"

Venusia's voice was high and shrill. "The Dark Lord was loyal to Slytherin's ideals, but-"

"Tom Riddle!" They winced and gasped. "Tom Riddle was a Halfblood. His father was a Muggle and his mother a witch, but her family was Pureblood descended from Slytherin. That is how Riddle, or Voldemort, as he called himself, was able to open the secret chamber beneath Hogwarts to free the Basilisk that Slytherin himself placed there." She sneered at their astonished expressions: "I do my homework – and I don't refer to the propaganda taught in Hogwarts. I know of those events and the reopening of the chamber. And it only proves our suspicions of your 'Dark Lord': he was of Slytherin's blood, as I'm from Penhuibin's blood. This gives me the right to demand from Riddle's loyal followers the fulfilment of Slytherin's Unbreakable Vow." She straightened, and the air about them grew colder. "Help me find Slytherin's whereabouts – either his grave or his castle – and I promise that Penhuibin will repay you. He always stood by to those who are loyal to him."

"So just what is it he intends to repay?" Dolohov asked slowly.

A smile tugged at her grim expression. "You want a world without Muggle-borns? You want to finish what your Dark Lord started? You want to be in power? Then you need more than just a wish. Your numbers are diminishing, your ministry is no longer under your control, Purebloods are turning their backs on you because they cannot see a future for themselves without Voldemort. The answer is simple: you need a new 'Dark Lord' – one even stronger than Riddle. _And this is Penhuibin_."

Silence. Greyback, listening nearby, growled softly, nodding in agreement. Rabastan Lestrange was a strong and powerful wizard, but he lacked the icy logic of Voldemort. He was guided by his lust for revenge over an actual plan, and that could be their downfall one day.

Lestrange pressed his lips shut. "Let us imagine – and imagine only – that we help you and your ... community, what do you need to bring back Penhuibin? Only the knife? The Dark Lord needed years to rebuild his body, and I daresay that he knew most of the tricks of the Dark Arts. I, personally, don't think that only a ghost in a knife will be enough to bring someone back to life whose been dead for thirty-one hundred years!"

"You learn quickly," she replied, and frowned suddenly. The fifth Death Eater she had stunned stirred, and with a flick of her wand, she sent him back into unconscious, continuing as if nothing happened. "We also need the urn which holds his ashes."

"You don't have it?" Venusia asked, ignoring the comrade at their feet. "But you told us that the urn vanished, same as the knife. I thought your people got it, too, I mean, after all, you said, I mean, -"

The young witch stopped the other's babbling. "When the Romans opened the grave of Ramses III, the urn at his feet was exposed and went missing. We learned that it might have shown up again approximately two centuries ago, along with other treasures from the old days, but it was transferred by a Muggle warlord, quite famous during his time: a man named Napoleon Bonaparte. He stole many artefacts from our country during his sojourn in Egypt. He brought them to Paris or gave them as gifts to befriended rulers. All traces of it vanished in the chaos of the wars which shook Europe during those years and later, but our people never gave up. Over the last five decades we searched all the museums in the world and it was I who finally discovered its location: in London, in the British Museum."

Greyback couldn't contain his curiosity any longer, stepping toward her. "And you learned this how?" he growled.

She met his pale eyes. "The Louvre and Les Invalides, Napoleon's place of burial, have records of Napoleon's plunder. They restored those papers. The exhibit has run for several weeks now. It was child's play to enter it and retrieve them – along with a few artefacts which belonged to Ramses III, and which are needed to complete the ceremony to recall Penhuibin. I will do the same this coming Thursday when the moon is full, and again in December."

"And you're certain the urn will be there?" Vesuvia asked.

The Egyptian girl took a deep breath. "Yes, I am. I will have it shortly. Muggles are easy to fool, because they have lost their belief in magic. They will not be able to explain the loss."

"And if you can get what you need, then…" Antonin made a small gesture towards the skies.

"Then Penhuibin will return."

"How will you raise him? He has no body, you can't re build one out of ashes -"

The girl suddenly laughed, the sound out-of-place in the forest. "Oh, by Aphopis, you are such small thinkers! You believe you cannot build a body out of ashes? Have you seen the phoenix? They do it all the time! What makes us different from the Halfbloods and Mudbloods? Our pure blood. Blood is life. What are the stars? Yes, Muggle technology can observe them and speculate about what they are made of, but they have no idea what they _are_. They still hold their own magic – a very old one. The old gods aren't dead, only forgotten by most. They live - not as in earlier days, but they still have their supremacy, retaining them by sharing a part of themselves with those who still believe in them."

She turned to Rabastan again. "Tell me, my friend, is your face healed? Do you still feel the wounds the claws of the black cat gave you?"

Lifting a brow, the man shook his head. "No, seems to be fine."

"And I am the only one who could heal you of those wounds. The cat that attacked you was, of course, no ordinary cat. In fact, it takes many forms, and is presently a student in Hogwarts. In her, a part of Bastet lives and springs forth when needed." The disbelief was quite evident on all faces.

"Yes," she said, looking at Greyback. "The wolf inside of you was terrified by the beast that emerged in Hogsmeade." She lifted a hand. "You don't have to confirm it, I know it. It wasn't your fault that your instincts took over. The origin of your affliction is rooted in an unfortunate attempt by Anubis to create a race of protectors, a ... um, an army for his realm. He approached men and women who were on the brink of death, and offered to share some of his power with them, hoping to gain some loyal servants. But it was not to be. The spells went awry. Those he'd chosen and bewitched were still alive, but also part wolf. They soon turned on him. He destroyed the most of them, but some escaped to become their own race."

Fenrir's hands curled into fists, his desire for more information apparent in the set of his eyes. "_How_ did Anubis share this power with them?"

It was several seconds before she answered. "He bit them."

She let her words sunk in, then continued: "They changed, but not completely. A werewolf's hatred of others, his greed for flesh and blood and his urge to kill is the result of those changes. Knowing that they weren't exactly human anymore, they became jealous of those who were. Many of them killed each other. During the centuries, the wolfish characteristics developed in their hosts with each generation, until their desire to be human again was manifested in their ability to remain so, most of the time, but to be forced to transform completely when Anubis' nights arrive: at full moon."

"So … a werewolf's instinct to infect his victims is rooted in the moment of their creation?" Lestrange shook his head. "And Lycnathrophy is Anubis' … power ... that went wrong?" As the girl nodded, Rabastan snorted. "And there were generations of wizards who tried to solute the puzzle of your kin, Fenrir."

Greyback snarled, and it was several seconds before everyone realized that he was laughing. "Well, many thanks to Anubis – even if he did scare the hell out of me. I enjoy the advantages this 'affliction' gives. Would hate to be without it!"

The student raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you will have the opportunity to thank him personally – that is, if your inner wolf can bear him the next time. A bit of advice: your wolf will feel easier if he faces Anubis in his human or partly human appearance."

"So, he is here as well?" Lestrange pursed his lips. "Are all of you foreign students 'chosen ones'?"

"You might say that. They were not given these gifts for nothing. Each gift came with a with one requirement: to prevent the return of Penhuibin."

"And you? How have you kept this secret?"

She laughed again. "They are misled, believing me to be of Sobek, the god of the Nile. Aphopis gave me power enough to maintain this illusion – and my 'friends' are still children. They have not progressed as I have had to. They think me on their side and are glad when I sneak into a museum to collect the artefacts we need to bring back Penhuibin, the very thing they are striving to prevent!" She giggled, tossing her hair. "They think these objects are safe with us! Because of this, I can work freely without them becoming suspicious of me, and have the artefacts within reach." She added with a smirk: "And they will finally know they cannot hinder me if they get in my way."

Rabastan forced himself to relax against a trunk, tucking his hands in his pockets. "What I don't get in the whole scheme is why a young girl like you is entrusted with certainly the most important issue of your community. Don't get me wrong. You're talented ... gifted ... I've seen your work. But you are still young. Why are there no more experienced members of your community around to help you?"

It seemed he asked the right question, because the olive face smiled with amusement and agreement. "It would be too obvious if months before the day arrives, too many Egyptian wizards find an excuse to visit your country. Some of them will come in the Spring, as a delegation travelling around Europe, finally meeting with Minister Shackelbolt for a discussion of common issues. Others will arrive later, in different groups, as tourists, craftsmen."

"So you've thought it through," Dolohov mused.

The Egyptian girl nodded. "We know to be careful. We have had many years to do so. The Halfbreeds in our country know that the knife was taken out of country, and they are after it, too. But they would not speculate that a young girl is their target." She straightened. "I'm a direct descendent of Penhuibin, through his daughter, and I am from her line – all of us pure-blood wizards and witches. It is my duty make amendment for those who lost his urn – and the knife with his Ba. He will forgive his fellows if his own heir can undo these mistakes."

"So you are their only hope," Venusia mused and chuckled. "A great responsibility, my dear, and it helps me understand why you're so desperate to contact us. Your people have lived for centuries for this one day, but they also fear it. And everything is lying on your young shoulders." She shook her head and clucked with false compassion. "That's hard."

"I think you've misunderstood me!" The young woman's voice was still soft, but with an edge. "I am not 'desperate.' I simply offer you a way back – and a way to pay your debt."

For a moment she seemed to listen, then sneered: "Do not underestimate me. My purpose shall be accomplished, no matter what you decide. But beware – you want to be on our side when it happens!" She spun about and stared into the darkness, lips moving soundlessly, and they heard the sound of a body falling, the crackling of breaking twigs, a small animal fleeing to its hole. She glared at Greyback. "You were to be on watch!" She pointed toward the fallen intruder, and Greyback moved to see what was there. A moment later a shout of surprise escaped him, and the others moved to see what it was. They stared down at the corpse of a centaur.

Rabastan cursed under his breath and turned around. "Do you know what you've done? The centaurs will learn of his death and then-"

"He'd heard too much, and would have informed the old headmistress immediately."

Venusia blinked several times. "You performed the killing curse without wand, word or light. How?"

"Old magic," came the flat answer. "Magic you can only dream of." The others looked at one another uncertainly. "So, what is your decision? Will you cooperate?"

Lestrange assessed the mood of the others and finally nodded. "We're in."

The girl smiled coldly. "Good. And to be certain that there will be no treachery, I reinforce the Unbreakable Vow that Slytherin made." Her slender index finger was directed at each of the four Death Eaters, murmuring, ignoring the still fifth at their feet. A searing pain shot through the left arms of them. Shoving his sleeve up, Rabastan watched another snake wind itself about the Dark Mark – beautiful detail in every scale, with long sharp teeth and eyes black as the night. And as he looked at it, the picture changed and Egyptian runes, a script used long before the Hieroglyphs, moved along its body. Venusia groaned with something like pain and dread.

It was this new mark that convinced Rabastan that he was dealing with a power that could even defeat Voldemort, had he been alive, and pursed his lips. He had long ago decided to follow the Dark Arts, and now he was given a new chance to rid the world of Halfbloods and Mudbloods, to create a world as Slytherin and Voldemort had planned.

"You can count on us," he said to the girl. "Will you now reveal your name to us?"

The Egyptian witch chuckled. "Layla Moawad!"

TBC…

_So, my dear readers, so much for the background and the many guesses, what is behind this all. I do hope I found the right mixture of real history and fantasy and that you're liking the ideas. The idea of the 'root' of the first werewolves came to me during writing, after I read several reports concerning Anubis. The likeness between the way he is portrait (half a wolf-like creature, half a man or completely in animal-form) made me think of an explanation, how werewolves were 'created'. I do hope you enjoy the idea, and – this much I can tell – this detail will lead to more._

_In the next chapter there will begin a lot of unrest in Hogwarts, hidden hints will given and there will be another nice-sweet interaction between Draco and Hermione, what will rise their beginning trust to each other even more._

_Until next time,_

_Please, please leave some reviews (I'm so curios what you think about the plot now),_

_Yours Lywhn_


	27. Rising Trust, Stampeding Emotions

_Dear Readers,_

_it is Saturday, time for a rest – and another chapter of the story. I don't want to reveal too much, only that it will be mostly a sweet and fluffy one._

_Thank you so much again for all the reviews. I so love to learn about your thoughts and reactions._

_Have fun,_

_Love you all,_

_Yours Lywhn _

**Chapter 26 – Rising Trust, Stampeding Emotions**

That Sunday evening passed uneventfully. Neriman, Edis, and Abdel were not seen the entire day, which was odd, especially when all three showed up at breakfast Monday morning, refreshed and famished. Layla seemed to tease them as they entered the great hall, but Ginny, who was watching the two Egyptian girls closely, caught the edge in Layla's voice and the annoyance in the tone of Neriman. It was clear these two didn't get along very well – a new development, it seemed, because until now, the four had behaved as if they were fast friends.

Then Hagrid's remarkable bulk was seen striding to the teacher's table. He hastily whispered something to McGonagall, who appeared shocked, and followed him out of the Great Hall. Lifting her skirts, out of sight of the students, Minerva did something quite uncharacteristic: she ran. She was much quicker than any of the students could have imagined. Hagrid followed her easily with his long thundering strides. Out of the castle and down to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, she halted, out of breath. Several large figures waited for her in the foliage. One of them approached on four strong legs like young trees, while the dark bearded face with the unruly hair peered down on the witch and the half-giant. Strong hands were clenched in controlled wrath, the curve of a bow and the ends of feathered arrows over his bare shoulder.

"Bane!" McGonagall wheezed, still fighting for breath. She'd forgotten her age again. "Hagrid told me … what … what happened. Who is dead?"

The centaur lifted one bushy brow, his hard face grim and his yellow eyes were blazing. "Sedat!" he growled, his strong hands opened and closed in a barely controlled fury.

"The young seer?" McGonagall was shocked. "Sweet Merlin, how…?"

"Strangers invaded our territory early last evening," another centaur hissed, Hagrid recognized as Ronan, another of their kind. All centaurs distrusted humans, and for good reason. But, after the Battle of Hogwarts in which Magorian, the centaurs' leader, decided to join the fight against the Dark Side, they had been on speaking terms with Hogwarts' teachers and the students – a truce that allowed them to call on the headmistress.

"Sedat followed their voices and we watched them from afar. At first we thought it might be some of your teachers, but then I felt the chill that was enveloping them," Bane continued, his expression full of antagonism. "Sedat moved closer, despite our warning. When the strangers disapparated and Sedat did not return, we looked for him."

"He was dead, struck down by some kind of killing curse!" Ronan added with fury. "He was so young, and would have been a great seer one day! And he is killed in cold blood!"

Minerva shook her head, confused and deeply concerned. "I can assure you, good friends, that no one of my staff would do perform such a terrible act. May I look on Sedat?"

Bane lifted a warning hand. "We do know that none of _Hogwarts'_ teachers would commit murder. We know you all too well to consider that. And, as I said, the murderers were strangers, wizards I do not know. Two females were among them, as well as a werewolf. But two things I do know: humans again treated one of us as a wild animal, and humans again invaded our territory without our permission!" His glare found Hagrid. "Magorian welcomed you back into this forest and you are still allowed to come here at need – a circumstance Ronan and I welcome, as well. But be sure that you are the only one who crosses our borders."

"I'm doin' me very best, but there's still tha' werewolf-fledging runnin' free an'-" Hagrid got no further.

"Werewolves have been in this forest since before Hogwarts stood on this mountain! These woods will never be free of them, but we can deal with them. But this is made more difficult for us when your foals are running through our territory at full moon!"

Minerva and Hagrid exchanged a quick glance, knowing the incident he was referring to. "One of our new students, a little boy – a foal, as you call him – tried to run off and go home. He crossed the borders of the Forbidden Forest without realizing, being new here. Our Head-Students chased after him to save him, which they did. I think you understand the urgency of our species to protect our young ones."

Bane snorted, a sound much like that of a horse. "Of course we do! We are not the animals that certain wizards and witches are! But it's up to you and your teachers to instruct them in the respect toward other cultures!"

With a mental rebuke, Minerva resisted the impulse to roll her eyes: that tiresome old subject again! She, personally, had great respect for the centaurs, and had a high opinion of their knowledge and skills (if not of their lofty egos), but, regrettably, there were others - like Umbridge - who despised the half-human creatures and saw them only as talking animals. "All students are taught respect of other cultures, independent of race and lineage, but small children do make mistakes, as enemies do, too." She took a deep breath. "May I please examine Sedat?" she asked again, but this time the two other centaurs, standing a few paces behind, angrily shook their heads and Bane frowned.

"NO! No humans today in our forest! We have to prepare Sedat's body for the ceremony."

"But, I could tell which curse hit him, then we-"

Bane slashed the air with his hand, while the others stamped and pawed the ground. "I said NO! He was struck with a killing-curse, that is all we and you need to know. And there was no green light as we saw during the Battle of Hogwarts, so it must be another that murdered our brother. I only informed you of this to warn you and your students that perhaps the followers of that soul-splintered wizard the young Potter managed to kill are still roaming these grounds."

"There were _Death Eaters_?" Minerva's whisper was shrill, and Hagrid gasped.

"They wore the black robes, and had the silver masks hooked at their belts," Bane confirmed. "If they come near us again, you will not have to fear them anymore. Our arrows will see to that. But until then - be careful!"

He turned and moved back into the shadows of the forest, and the others followed. Only Ronan remained a moment longer. Looking at the grieving Hogwarts' ranger and headmistress , he pursed his lips and murmured: "You know we read the stars as you read books to refresh your memories. All of life and history are moving in circles, especially the stars." He hesitated a moment, threw a glance over his shoulder to be sure the others were gone. He intended to do something centaurs were not known for: share his knowledge. "Soon the stars will show the same face to this world as they did on a day long time ago, when a dark one was banished in the land of light and wasteland. This dark one will try to rise again, so be wary, loyal friend of Dumbledore."

Every alarm bell was ringing in McGonagall's instincts when she heard these words. "What do you mean?" she whispered. "Voldemort is dead and…"

"He was only the _heir_ of a dark wizard. There were others like him before. And the dream of immortality is as old as time itself. There was another who found a way to return from death. The stars are aflame with warning, and they will move relentlessly to the fateful constellation." He nodded toward the woods, his long ears jerking nervously, eyes looking at something they could not see. "Sedat was the first victim we know of. There will be more. An ancient wind breathes on this land, a breath with an ancestry from far away. Old powers masked in human form, hover close by, too strange to be understood. We all can feel them." His eyes regained their focus, and he looked upon a very pale headmistress and scowling gamekeeper. "One of them I espied yesterday before Sedat was killed. There were two that Bane felt nearby as your two students fought against the werewolf-fledging. They are here, lady," he nodded grimly, "they are here."

"Wha' could a' this mean?" Hagrid asked uncomfortably and met the steely eyes of the younger centaur.

"I am certain you have already heard the rumours, if you do not recognize them," Ronan answered. He looked toward the forest as a loud summons was heard. "I must go. The others are waiting."

Minerva tentatively reached out and touched his fist, his skin firm, dry and hot. He looked down on her in surprise. There were few humans in his experience who willingly touched one of his kin. "Ronan, this is important. If there are concealed dangers in my school which threaten my chi- ... these students, I have to know it."

"I have already told you more than I am permitted," Ronan shook his head, baffled as she simply took his large hand in her old ones.

"Please, Ronan, they are but children. There are rumours of strange shadows moving through Hogwarts at times, but I didn't think them true. Gossip and ghost stories are a part of any school, and neither the ghosts nor the portraits could tell me more of them. But you…"

He sighed. "More I cannot tell you. Magorian must not learn that I gave you so much already."

Knowing full well that no centaur could be persuaded to tell something against his will, McGonagall changed her tactic, speaking quickly. "You said that Bane sensed those strange beings when Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy saved little Phillip. And both Head-Students confirmed that there were two unfamiliar black creatures that chased away the young werewolf. And during the raid of Hogsmeade yesterday, a black cat saved Mr. Malfoy and a kind of giant black jackal protected Miss Granger. Are they the beings you mentioned?"

The centaur watched her closely, as she did him. It wasn't easy to read on the face of one of his kin, because even if the features were mostly human, they were still an entirely different species. But in this moment, she detected a flash of amusement, then Ronan replied, "You humans should learn to see what's right in front of your puny noses! Then many riddles would be solved without so much trouble!" With that he turned and galloped away, his wild hair flying after him like a mane.

Sighing from the tension, Minerva stood there silent for over a minute and rubbed her face. The sound of drops on the leaves was beginning around her. Then she felt the large hand of Hagrid on her shoulder. "Perfessor, let's get back! It's start'n t' rain again."

Nodding, McGonagall turned toward back gate, the half-giant behind her, shielding her with his overcoat against the rising wind and rain. Minerva shivered. In her haste, she hadn't even taken her warm cape and was in only her long dress and jacket. She walked closely to Hagrid, grateful for his courtesy, lost in thought. That thought was interrupted when Hagrid murmured, "Perfessor, Sir Nich'las spoke with me a bit ago. He said tha' there's somethin' not right in Hogwarts. Strange shadows, yeh know. An' some of th' portraits said they fall asleep unexpectedly."

McGonagall came to a halt, the rain dampening her grey-dark hair and her wrinkled face now white with worry. "I do know that something is going on, Hagrid. I spoke to the two 'amours' from Hufflepuff, as well as to several of the portrait inhabitants, and even Peeves. And they told me many things, but there was one common element: as soon as they'd sensed the foreign presence, they fell asleep. The other thing that troubles me is that 'self-healing' by Abdel Fathalla. Never in my life had I heard of such a gift. The back of the poor boy was torn into strips, and suddenly, he's healed – overnight! Akay confirmed this unusual talent of his student, but still I'm ... unconvinced." She hugged herself and shivered, and began to walk again. "And what's this story of Death Eaters around Hogwarts? And those two animals? The young Malfoy gave a good description of them when he was questioned by Hank Trees and Gawain Robards of the Auror's Office about the events in Hogsmeade."

Hagrid frowned. "Th' boy was questioned alone by th' Ministry?"

"In the end, yes." The headmistress snorted. "Trees still holds a grudge against the Malfoys, and all former Death Eaters," she hastened to add. "He doesn't trust them, something I certainly won't blame him for, considering the role Lucius Malfoy played in both wars. But Draco is guiltless." Her mouth pressed in a straight line. "I know this. He has changed for the better. I watched him during the raid of Hogsmeade, and I saw him protecting Harry and Hermione, fighting at their side despite the danger."

Hagrid grunted in approval. "Tha' is sayin' a mouthful." Of all the students he'd known over the years in Hogwarts, he'd developed a special affection for Harry and his friends.

"And considering his behaviour within the last weeks, well, blaming him for the deeds of his father or suspecting him of being a potential killer is completely and utterly wrong. I was forced to intervene when Trees badgered him and still couldn't get the incriminating answers he was looking for. The boy is still shaken and needs time to heal the wounds in his soul. Harassing him is the worst thing we could do, but regrettably, men like Trees cannot see this." She wiped the drizzle from her eyelashes. "But recalling the two strange animals, and the words of Ronan: it's another piece to the puzzle I'm attempting to put together. I'm still missing so many."

They had reached the hill leading toward Hogwarts. "And Death Eaters here! I will inform Kingsley. Perhaps if he sends some Aurors to examine the grounds around us, we will be able to keep those foul pretenders at a distance. I will also increase the wards – and the students will not be allowed to leave the school grounds until I'm satisfied they will be safe. One murdered centaur is more than enough. I will NOT have one of my students added to the deadly list Voldemort's former fellows are making." She looked up at Hagrid. "Regarding this cat and this wolf or dog or whatever it is, I am assigning you to discover all you can about them. If anyone in this country knows more about magical creatures than our whole library can tell us, it's you."

Rubeus shrugged his broad shoulders. "M'sorry, Perfessor, but I never 'erd of a cat or a wolf acting like tha'. An' then how they look - a smart cat on long legs an' a oversized wolf-like creature tha' chasin' away Greyback after it come out of some fog…" He shook his enormous head. "I'll ask around if one of me acquaintances've ever 'erd of something like tha' afore, but don't get yer hopes up too much, Perfessor. I don' think they're comin' from our island."

Minerva nodded. "I agree, Hagrid. Do you best, as always. And I will speak with Binns and Abdelghani. Binns knows the history of the most countries of our world like the inside of his own pocket, and Abdelghani is a master when it comes to his knowledge of the Dark Arts. It's possible one of them might have an idea of what we're dealing with."

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

The whole school had seen the Headmistress' flight from the Great Hall that morning, and some witnessed her return from the area of the Forbidden Forest. The gossip and bizarre speculations were flying thick and fast among all the students.

And now Draco had another riddle to ponder, the curative talents of Abdel. He got a chance to ask the Slytherin guest about it during lunch and was thoroughly informed that the other boy really had healed himself, but the evasive answers left too many blanks. Determinedly, the Head-Boy went to the library after the dinner to peruse the books about self-healing, only to run into Hermione, who was already researching the same subject. He joined her, and together they took and compared notes, and after more than two hours – and an irritated prompting by Madame Pince after it was eight o'clock – they returned to their dormitory. One thing they found out: self-healing-skills, like those Abdel supposedly used, were impossible! Abdel had lied! And the reason for the figures of Anubis and Bastet had been Neriman and Edis visiting him and performing healing spells. Both head students were certain of it, even if they hadn't proof.

"'Ghani has to know what's going on. If he didn't, he wouldn't confirm Abdel's claim," Hermione mused aloud, pulling off her school-robe and loosening her tie. Draco did the same dropping onto his sofa. "Huh, and if he's involved in ... whatever they're planning, then our chances of discovering what it is are significantly reduced." He sighed. "Why is it always the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

Hermione grimaced. "Hmm, good question." She cocked her head, thinking. "The best we had was Lupin. Classes with him were fun. I learned a lot."

Malfoy bit his tongue; he had his own opinion concerning the werewolf. "Well, at least he wasn't up to anything nasty. There was only one other one you could say the same about." Catching her raised brow, he said: "Uncle Severus." His response to her frown was just as quick. "I know he wasn't your favourite, Granger, but he had nothing evil in mind. After all, he worked for your Order, didn't he?"

Hermione shrugged off her sweater and sat down across from him, her coffee-brown eyes displaying her curiosity. "Why do you call him 'Uncle Severus'?"

He sat there so long, lost in thought, that she thought he'd forgotten her. Then, warily, he took a very deep breath, "He was my godfather."

Her chin dropped and her eyebrows popped up. "Your … your _godfather_?" When she saw his half amused, half sad smile, she stuttered, "But … but you never acted like it, you called him 'Professor Snape', a-a-and…" She shook her head, lost for words.

Draco sighed. "We thought it better that students and teachers shouldn't know about it. I do think the only one who knew about it was Dumbledore – and, perhaps, McGonagall." He lowered his gaze. "He wasn't so bad. Yeah, he had dark moods, and sometimes favoured the Slytherins, but he could be caring. He simply wouldn't show it." He pursed his lips. "We Slytherins don't wear our hearts on our sleeves like you Gryffindors," he added, a tease in his voice.

Hermione was watching him closely. She recognized the lingering sorrow in his eyes – the sort of emotion he masked so diligently. "Well, sometimes it's far healthier for the soul to let feelings out instead of bottling them up," she answered softly, overcoming the shock of his latest revelation. "I ...I'm truly sorry for your loss," she added, her eyes on his face, sadness now plain underneath.

Malfoy breathed in deeply again, seeing her earnestness plainly written on her heart-shaped face, and felt a new warmth. "Thanks," he mumbled, remembering the long-time friend of his father all too clearly.

They hadn't gotten along with each other during the sixth year, because Draco thought Professor Snape wanted to take his father's place within Voldemort's circle but – in the end – Snape managed to protect him as he led him away the night Dumbledore died, and regained a bit of Draco's lost trust in him. And afterward, during the weeks he was at school his seventh year, he felt that his godfather understood the hell he was going through – at home, with a father losing himself in alcohol, and his own doubts about the mad reasons for the upcoming war – but still he kept his distance from his godfather. And now, now it was too late to mend the misunderstanding. Snape died; not because he betrayed the Dark Lord, but because of another misunderstanding.

And Voldemort's cold-blooded lust for power.

"It … it was a shock when I learned that … that Uncle Severus had been murdered," Draco continued, not sure why he was telling her about this. He'd never opened up like this before. He had been trained to wear a mask of unemotional aloofness, to control his feelings, betray nothing of what he felt. But suddenly, somehow, the words came easily from his lips, as if a cork had been removed from a bottle, or a gate lifted in a dam. Maybe because had been forced to hold his emotions in check for so long. Maybe because he knew that Hermione would only listen, and would never gossip about it. She would understand. And it felt good to finally talk to someone about everything.

"Voldemort learned from Potter in the end that his so-obedient servant was actually working for the Order – out of love." He met Hermione's gaze again. "I heard most of what Potter told the Dark Lord, just before their duel came to a happy end, because I regained conscious in time, after … _someone_ knocked me out. Voldemort thought Snape was the master of the Elder wand, but, amazingly, it had been me." He sighed. Maybe Snape was the only one who really knew all he'd had to endure – after all, Snape had lived in a similar hell, even if Draco didn't know it during those years. But they hadn't been as close ever again as they had in years before, and he regretted it deeply. "Uncle Severus died in my place," he mumbled and lowered his gaze.

Hermione looked at him and ached to reach out and to take his hands in hers; her very tender heart was hurting for him once more. "It wasn't your fault, Draco. Neither Snape nor you knew the whole story," she said gently.

Her soft voice reassured him – an unfamiliar experience, but it enveloped his heart with a breath and the next sentences came out without thought. "Uncle Severus knew that I was the master of the Elder Wand. He had to know that Dumbledore had that damned ancient weapon and he also knew that it was I who took it from the old man." His gaze fell on his own wand that he had lost to Harry Potter in the struggle at the Manor – the very same wand that, in the end, killed Voldemort. It was returned to him later, after his trial, and it was like finding an old friend. This wand, made of Hawthorn and the purest thing in the world, an unicorn hair, had defeated the most powerful wand of all. _Incredible._

"But Uncle Severus kept his knowledge to himself– to keep me safe," Draco continued, lost in thought, and speaking it aloud. "Voldemort would have killed me the instant he learned about me being the master of the Elder wand, and Uncle Severus knew this, and gave his life to protect me." He lowered his gaze again. "I never had the chance to thank him, because I only learned about this after he died. He shielded me and I shoved him away. I almost spit at the floor when he told me that he made the Unbreakable Vow to my mother to protect me. I didn't _want_ his help. I thought I was strong enough – but I failed. In more ways than the one Voldemort was demanding from me. But still Snape remained at my side, and I didn't know how to handle this." He shook his head. "I really messed up."

The regret in his eyes, the merciless honesty and bitterness in his voice, were almost too much for the girl. Risking his annoyance, she rose, side-stepped the table, sat down beside him, and slipped the fingers of her left hand into his right one, squeezing them gently. She met his uncertain and baffled gaze, realizing how vulnerable he was in this moment, and whispered: "I'm certain he understood. He knew you at your best and your worst, and still, he was always so proud of you and held a protecting hand over you. Draco, you couldn't have pulled off all your pranks and bully-behaviour without a few hundred Detentions if not for Snape. And I don't think he only did it because you were his godson. In his way, he loved you – like the son he never had – and I'm certain he saw the good in you long before you came to Hogwarts." She smiled. "He knew how much he meant to you, and that you kept it to yourself, like most Slytherins."

He glanced down at their entwined fingers – hers so slim and tapered in his long and strong ones – and finally looked up. He loathed pity, but what he saw in her eyes was only a warm, deep compassion, understanding; something he had denied himself for so long. _She shouldn't be doing this! Not after everything I've done to her! _But he hadn't the heart to push it – and her – away. Her nearness, seeing how she opened up to him, pouring out the warmth he craved, almost made him dizzy. "I can't believe you've forgiven me for the things I've done in the past," his voice was thick, but he made himself go on. "But it's written on your face and in your eyes, I have to _learn_ to believe it," he said in a hushed voice. "And you even concede that my Uncle Severus, the teacher who bullied you, too, had true feelings."

"Of course he had – well hidden as they were." Hermione pursed her lips. "Unfulfilled love can twist people," she added thoughtfully.

"Yeah, Severus Snape, the tragically misunderstood hero." There was no mockery in his voice, but a quiet contemplation. "I always wondered why he never married. There were several women who pursued him." He chuckled when he saw the fleeting look disbelief. "Of course, there were no Gryffindors among them."

"But Lily Potter-" Hermione started. Draco shook his head.

"Potter's mother was a childhood friend, nothing more on her side of it. It's not wrong to see another person of the opposite sex only as a friend, but sometimes it's ... awkward. And Uncle Severus never got over his deepest feelings for her." He looked away, pondering. "I knew that he had an unrequited love in his past, but it never occurred to me that it could have been Potter's mother. I was shocked when I heard about it during that encounter between Potter and Voldemort." He snorted. "Sometimes life ... really ... sucks."

Hermione watched the sorrow and sadness in his tone deepening, and held his hand more tightly. "You miss him," she said gently and met his eyes again. "And that's okay. He must have been like a second father for you."

For another long moment Draco sat, then he nodded. "I suppose so. Uncle Severus was never like my real father, they're very different people, but still …" He shrugged. "He was family and…" He made a gesture with his free hand, clearly to mask his reeling emotions. "So, Potter and I have something else in common: we both lost our godfathers to the war."

Hermione nodded slowly, seeing this for the first time. "Yes, Harry missed Sirius dreadfully. He was the first person he ever knew as family." She sighed. "Bloody stupid war! It only left pain for all of us. Why we humans continually make the same mistake is beyond me. All humans - wizards _and_ Muggles."

Draco took a deep breath and grimaced. "And there's war after war after war." He pursed his lips. "But sometimes too much has happened to allow others any peace."

Hermione lifted a brow, guessing to what he was referring. "Malfoy, what happened after the rest of us left the Headmistress' office last Saturday?" she asked quietly and saw him clench his jaw; his other hand momentarily becoming a fist.

"Nothing I wasn't expecting," he replied evasively, smoothing his palm over his hair. He gently disentangled the hand she held and, walking to one of the windows, he drew the curtain aside and stared out into the rainy night, feeling bitterness in his belly. Looking into the night helped, nature bathed in darkness. Even the rain was soothing with its steady drumming.

Hermione wasn't put off by his less-than-satisfying answer. She probed: "The Aurors … they wanted more, didn't they?"

He stood for a long moment, considering his reply. "Let me put it this way: the history of my family and my past gave them reason enough to believe that I might have had a hand in the raid."

"WHAT?" Hermione gasped, completely taken aback. "That's … that's utter RUBBISH!"

"Oh, they didn't phrase it quite like that," he snorted, still watching the world outside – a world that might never forgive the deeds of a half-grown boy. "They wrapped their bitter meaning in a candy coating, but I can read between the lines. Trees and some other bloke share the same opinion as your thick boyfriend, and would rather see me in Azkaban than in school. And after I faced Rabastan twice, and he escaped after our last encounter, their demented misconceptions were only one small step away."

Hermione stood, looking at him, anger rising. "That … that is the craziest thing I've heard for a very long time. Why didn't they ask me – or Ginny? We both were there when he threatened us all. I was _with_ you when two Death Eaters appeared outside the gate and tormented you through that Dark Mark. We could have told them what we know, and maybe they'd recognize that their speculations are pure drivel!"

The indignation amused him, but, on the other hand, he could understand the Aurors. Smoothing his hair again, he replied sardonically: "You're my partner and they know that we have a truce. And the Weaselette could have been influenced by you – after all, you're her best friend." He shook his head, "It's no wonder they didn't ask you two."

Exhaling forcefully, Hermione stalked up and down between the sofas. "I can't believe it. After all you did for me! And Phillip! And Harry there in the village! And the other students you protected…!" She shook her head, an edge to her voice. "Why did McGonagall allow them to harass you like that? I thought it was she and the Dumbledore portrait who insisted they give you a chance, name you Head-Boy, a rank you've not abused. So why didn't they interfere? They should have shielded you against such absurd allegations!" _Damn, Dumbledore's portrait had indicated to her that everything would be fine! And what really happened? Those arrogant ministry censors had accused him of foul deeds because THEY hadn't caught Rabastan and the others! How dare they!_

Finally Draco turned, taking in her angry expression, and she turned to face him. "Oh, they did interfere," he told her flatly. "The headmistress you're so fond of acted outraged and accused them of judging one of her students without any proof. And that portrait had a lot to do to calm Uncle Severus' and Philius Black's, and gave the Aurors a piece of his mind. But it didn't stop Trees from reminding them – and me – that our family is still under observation, and that they had a right to ask any questions they wanted."

Her eyes widened. "You … you're under observation?" she asked, shocked, as she moved toward him.

He snorted. "Of course, Granger! My father was a prisoner in Azkaban! He was freed by his sister-in-law on Voldemort's order. He burgled the Ministry and attempted to kill Wonder-Boy. He and other Death-Eaters took prisoners and followed the Dark Lord for more than two years. Yes, yes, father switched sides in the end – I suspect because of my mother and out of concern for my safety – but nevertheless he _was_ a Death Eater through and through for months. And I daresay that there are enough wizards in the trial committee who didn't believe him in the first place that he was under the _Imperius_-curse after Voldemort vanished the first time years ago.

"The only reason he wasn't convicted this summer is because my mother helped Potter and he helped some students here when the Battle peaked. Of course the Ministry would put us under observation for awhile. It isn't all big and forgiving, and welcoming home the 'lost son'. They're suspicious of everyone, especially those who were once loyal to Voldemort and turned the corner at the last possible moment." He saw understanding beginning on her face, but also her defiance. She was on his side – something he never supposed could happen. Not after all he'd done. But here she was, her temper flaring because _he _had been judged unfairly.

And even if he didn't deserve her compassion and understanding, it felt so ... very ... good.

Without even thinking, he reached out, helplessly drawn to her faithful innocence like a moth to a flame. He gently stroked her cheek with the back of one finger; noticing again the velvety texture of her skin. "Really, Granger, sometimes you're just naïve," he whispered, while heat crept up his arm, spreading across his chest and quickening his heart.

"Naïve?" she murmured, attempting to ignore the growing warmth that spread from his finger through her body – again. "No. I just believed they spoke the truth when they said they would give you a second chance."

"They are giving me a second chance, but it doesn't mean that they trust me. Or my family. Trust must be earned and is not given easily, especially to someone like me," he said thoughtfully, the line appearing again between his brows.

"But… you have earned it!" she blurted. "You're taking your responsibility as Head Boy to heart! You helped the weaker ones and fought alongside us! What further proof could they want?"

"That's true. And as you've thought many times since the beginning of term, it's contrary to everything you've ever known about me. They won't believe it so soon, Hermione. No one else is as forgiving as you." He shook his head, looking away. "Admittedly, I have surprised myself by some of the things I've done, and asked myself why. But it feels right. And for the first time, I want to do things _right_." He turned to face the fire, contemplating some very new thoughts. "I've made enough mistakes while growing up – indeed, enough to last for the rest of my life. But I'm not stupid. I know that it will cost me years to earn the trust of others." His voice was quiet and sad. He knew that he couldn't expect more. His past screamed at them, and he now had to convince the whole wizarding country that he, indeed, had changed.

"Years?" Hermione shook her head. "Maybe for some, but not for all." She tried to sound reassuring, which earned her a smirk of disbelief from him.

"You think not?" He shook his head again. "Do _you_ trust me?"

The girl looked at him appraisingly: the pale, aristocratic features, the silver-grey eyes full of regret and sorrow, layered with hopelessness. She began to appreciate how much he must have considered his own past and the future, how he would have to fight or ignore the prejudice and dislike of others in their community who didn't know him, but had read about him in the _Daily Prophet_ or _The_ _Quibbler_. If she needed further proof that her Head-partner really had a change at heart, then she had seen it this evening. Perhaps he was still arrogant and insulting at times. Perhaps he was rude on occasion, or let his temper get the better of him, but so were many others. He deserved a chance. He stood up for her, he'd saved her from death more than once. He protected Phillip. He displayed a fairness she had never given him credit for. Even though his old selfishness sometimes flared up, he wasn't like he'd been before. There was only one answer for him.

He watched his question bouncing around behind her eyes, and nearly held his breath.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I trust you."

He stared at her. "After all I did and said over the time we've known each other? I hurt you, I threatened you, I forced you into a duel, called you names, invaded your mind and…"

He stopped and gulped as she took his fingers with hers; a gesture so innocent and human it made his heart nearly halt in surprise.

"Old habits die hard, and we both are … well … we're both thick-headed and thin-skinned. But you're trying to make up for your past, even with the consequences. Some of those who haven't changed despise you for it." Her voice was gentle. "I know you need time to find your way, but you've made a good start. And you put the needs of others over your own – even risking your life. So, yes, I do trust you."

Hope started in his eyes like moonlight on the edge of a passing storm, and they were suddenly bright with moisture, as he cupped her face with both hands, forced again to behold the softness of her skin and the size of her heart. "You shouldn't, Granger," he breathed, but hoped with all his soul that her words were true. "It's too early."

"Does it mean you'll try hex me in the morning?" she asked, laughing softly. "You're still the smug brat you always were. You can make me cry or rage at the drop of a hat, BUT," she continued, "I always knew that there was good in you, and I wasn't wrong. You can be good person, Draco Malfoy, if given the chance."

He swallowed hard, his voice thick, eyes nearly brimming. "You said on the train that I didn't deserve a second chance – that you would never forgive me ..." He trailed off, swallowing again. Once again Hermione realized how sensitive this young man was beneath his usual cool and uncaring mask – as if protecting himself from hurt with a shield of bully-boy. McGonagall's words returned to her, how Draco's soul had been injured and that he had been through hell, too. But only now did grasp how severely the boy suffered, contrary to everything she and her friends had assumed.

Acting on something like motherly instincts, she placed her hands on his chest, the warmth filling her with a subtle disquiet. "As someone else has said, never is an awfully long time," she whispered, noticing suddenly how close they were. She could feel the heat from his body, smell the scent of soap and a day of duties. And as he cupped her face with both hands and his thumbs started to draw soft circles on her cheeks, her heart began to race. For a long moment, she wanted nothing more than to slip her arms around him and to hold him close, offering him acceptance, and knowing she would receive security in return. Blood shot into her face at her thoughts.

"You're an astonishing girl, Hermione Granger," he murmured, feeling her skin warming beneath his palms. His gaze drifted to her lips, pink, petal soft, beckoning to him, tempting him to taste them again, to capture them and make them his own. He had spilled his soul to this Muggle-born, and was now heading toward more dangerous territory. She was so near again – like at last Saturday-afternoon, as she sat on _his_ sofa and had touched his hand in an unconscious gesture, or in the following night they had slept side by side, wrapped in each other's arms. In a moment, all of the troublesome memories dispersed like a puff of smoke in the wind. The Death Eaters' raid, the fear of being too late, the inquisition in the Headmistress' Office, the incongruity of his father's visit – all that vanished in the proximity of this girl and the kindling fire inside him.

He breathed in her sweet fragrance and almost groaned as a gentle feeling added to his rising desire. It first happened as they slept on the sofa and it hadn't disappeared, only slumbered in his subconscious, lurking for new opportunity. He was reminded of the giant Octopus, swimming from the deep to the surface, its many arms were his feelings now swarming through his chest, now rising immediately to the surface, ready to break through and to make him do things he shouldn't – like take her in his arms and shower her face with butterfly-soft kisses. He trembled as he realized he would lose this fight for rationality if he didn't put some distance between them _right now_.

Clearing his throat, he forced himself to retreat a step, breaking the physical contact. Was he mistaken, or was there really the same disappointment in her eyes as he felt? He saw her taking a deep breath, and tightened his lips, collecting his control, shoving aside the image of pulling her towards him and covering those pink lips with his until they couldn't breathe ... Gulping he returned to his sofa and sat down, snatch up one of the books from the library in a blatant attempt to distract himself from these unwanted, tender emotions. But they pumped like a drug through his body, echoing in his pulse. He was caught in a web of desire and growing affection, and he felt the sweat on his forehead. Sweet Helen of Troy, but he just might dash over to her, to pull her in his arms and to ravish her right then and there!

Hermione stood very still, holding in the effect his gentle touch and his nearness had had on her. Even now she, too, fought the urge to close the distance to him, slip onto his lap and nestle against his tall lean form; to capture his mouth and to taste him again in a way that had haunted her since the evening of their stupid duel. _'Lord, help! Friends! Just friends! But… but… ohhhh, it felt so good when he held my face…'_ Red rising in her face again, she bit her lips, not realizing the effect it had on the young man on the couch who was again looking at her.

'_Those lips should be fondled, not bitten,' _came to him, and he was close to slapping himself to regain sense. He cleared his throat once more and changed the subject: "Err, Granger? Perhaps we should look into the information we've found, to solve the riddle of our visitors?" No, his voice wasn't that hoarse, was it?

Hermione looked at him and the retreating blush crept once more into her cheeks, which was answer enough. And as she closed the distance to the sofas, he gripped the book hard enough to leave marks on the leather cover, metaphorically getting a grip on himself to prevent - He closed his eyes as a headache started.

Have mercy! If he wasn't able to control those hormones, those strange delightful feelings, he would find himself throwing away anything he'd ever learned of manners, and the Malfoy legacy, and would use anything in his power to win over this witch – even, if he had to plead on his knees for her to come to him…

TBC…

_Well, aren't our both acting sweet to each other? Yes, it's still a long way for them to go, but feelings cannot be tamed and therefore the two are drifting more and more to each other, while the danger around and in Hogwarts will grow. Layla has a lot of triumphs up her sleeve, just wait. And what the centaur were revealing... believe me, our friends are going to face a lot of trouble ._

_In the next chapter McGonagall has a lot to do, not only because of the Aurors in Hogwarts, but also because she wants to solve a riddle, she hasn't even understand completely until now. And Harry and Draco are having the same opinion in a special matter, surprising the whole school with it…_

_Cheetah and I will hurry up, have a nice weekend, and please, please leave some reviews, how you liked the last part. I know, the idea the Snape was Draco's godfather isn't new, but I couldn't resist to pick this subject, too – and it gives such a good base for the growing truce between our Slytherin-Prince and the others._

_Until the next time,_

_Love,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	28. Preventive Measures

_Hallo, dear Readers,_

_Yeah, it's Saturday and therefore time for the next update. In this chapter you will learn more about the purpose of the Egyptian students and their teacher, while McGonagall is determined to bring some light into the dark._

_Thank you so much for the last reviews and you encouragements. I'm glad that I am still portraying the characters close to their original way of acting and thinking, and that you are liking this fanfiction and its story-line so much._

_Have fun with the next chapter,_

_Love you all,_

_Lywhn!_

**Chapter 27 – Preventive Measures**

McGonagall waited until after breakfast the next morning before announcing the new restrictions to the students, knowing full stomachs would ameliorate the unpleasantness she had to give them. The news still generated groans and murmured protests all over the Great Hall: no one was allowed to leave the immediate vicinity, only visits to the owlery – located by the wall – was excepted. And then the next announcement created a resentful turmoil among all four houses: "And I am very sorry to inform you that, for the time being, there will be no further trips to Hogsmeade."

Minerva cleared her throat, as the volume level increased, and pointed her wand at her throat, murmuring, "_Sonorus," _then, "Silence, please!" and her voice was projected as if from a dozen speakers around the room.

She had to repeat this several times, and then allowed her irritation to show. "Mr. Morrey? One word more and I will give you Detention. – Miss Granya, please quit screeching. I am certain your make-up supply will last until Christmas. – Mr. Reese, stop that shouting. It will change nothing!" Finally the grumbling settled down, but dark expressions were turned her direction and several, especially Slytherins, scowled openly at her.

Taking a deep breath, the she continued: "After giving vent to your understandable upset, I ask you to listen a moment longer." She paused until she was sure she had everyone's attention. "This decision was not made easily. Minister of Magic Shacklebolt met with me in person and insisted that that this precaution is necessary, _not only_ because of last Saturday's shocking unpleasantness. He thinks I should not worry you further, but I believe my students have the right to know about the whole situation, to make wise decisions about their actions – and not least of all, to understand the reason for their restriction to school grounds." She deliberately folded her hands on the podium, and looked grimly at all four tables, and, it seemed, to each face turned her way.

"Last Sunday evening, Death Eaters were seen in the Forbidden Forest, just beyond the school property." She saw the alarm on their faces and added in soothing tones, "You must not be anxious. I do know that the most of you still suffer from the experiences of last May, not only those who lost friends and family members, but also those who barely escaped before the Dark Lord attacked. Many chose to fight against the Death Eaters. But the protective spells that create the wards established around the boundaries of Hogwarts have been expanded, and Aurors will come this morning to strengthen the Hogwarts' wards. They will also be in Hogsmeade to reassure the citizenry over the next days." Again whispers started and Minerva raised her voice again. "You may be confident that the ministry and I will do all possible to keep you safe, but you must do your part as well. So please, do not leave the school, and if you're going to the owlery, please make sure that friends accompany you. This is especially true for the younger students. As soon we are secure again, you will be informed immediately." She sighed inwardly – would these dark times never be over? "And now you are dismissed to - yes, Mr. Potter?"

Harry had shot out of his seat, hand raised, and everyone heard him ask, "Professor, we all know that you're doing your best to keep us safe, but since we have to stay within the castle, will we be able to go on with the Quidditch match the last weekend in November? Will it still take place?"

Hermione, beside him, sighed and shook her head, while most of the other students nodded vehemently, whispering again.

The headmistress blinked, obviously taken aback by the question which had not occurred to her, then she cleared her throat. "Well, Mr. Potter, Quidditch is important, but…"

"Since I've been here," he interrupted, "the game was cancelled only twice: first after the attack of the basilisk and second the year the field was being used for the Tri-Wizard Tournament." Harry smiled in apology, but stood waiting for her answer.

Minerva sighed, giving Harry a sour look. She definitely had soft spot for the young man, otherwise she would have rebuked him sharply for interrupting inappropriately. Then she saw the eager faces at all four tables. Even the teachers looked at her expectantly. _Sweet silver unicorns! What were they thinking?_ The school was being threatened by revenge-seeking _Death Eaters,_ and everyone's first concern was the upcoming _Quidditch_ _game_!

It was only the next moment when she remembered that it was the little things that made it worth going on, the Quidditch games, the trips to Hogsmeade, the next concert or competition; those little joys that made it worthwhile facing the harsh, dark times. She couldn't take that away from them.

Therefore ... she would have to come up with a solution. Now.

Rising to her full height, she said: "I will talk to the Chief Auror, Mr. Robards. If he can assure me that he and his aurors can patrol the field during the match, then – of course – the game will go on."

The cheering and applause broke out all over the hall.

"What about the practices?" the Ravenclaw Seeker asked loudly. "If we can't use the field until the match, neither we nor Gryffindor will be able to play our best!" and all Quidditch players around the Great Hall agreed.

Draco lifted his hand and rose, as the headmistress acknowledged him, wondering what was coming next. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Professor, I agree with Potter and the others that the game should continue, and that we need practice. But until the Aurors have made the pitch fully secure, perhaps we can train in the largest courtyard at fixed points of time – or, possibly, here in the Great Hall in a free period. It wouldn't be too difficult to pile up the house tables and benches and to protect them with a charm. So we would be inside of the castle, but still have the chance to skill our abilities for the matches."

Harry glanced over to the Slytherin-Prince and grinned. "I never thought I'd say this, but good idea, Malfoy!"

There was laughter from the rest of the hall, and the Head-Boy gave an exaggerated bow in Harry's direction – two who shared the same passion and finding common ground.

Minerva composed her face, trying not to look amazed by this turn of events, and turned to Filch – who was gaping – and smirked. "Mr. Malfoy, if you can assure me that we will find the hall in the same condition that we left it, you have my permission."

"YEAH!" sounded it from somewhere at the Hufflepuff table, while most students applauded or rapped on the wooden tables.

Shaking her head, she said, "Now that that's settled, you are dismissed to go to your classes, which will begin in one quarter hour!" Tired, she sat back on her chair, still hating the fact that she had restrain her students privileges, but glad to grant them their Quidditch. And maybe Gawain Robards or Hank Trees could come up with methods to secure the pitch for practice.

She pressed her lips shut, loathing this turn of events. As she spoken with Kingsley via the floo-network the afternoon before, both agreed that risks had to be kept to a minimum, and that meant that the students had to stay within the castle. She knew that dozens of them thought this step overdone, but none of those knew of the young centaur's death and how his life had been ended so thoughtlessly, so brutally. And McGonagall wanted to keep it this way. There was no reason to worry the students.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"What do you make of the new restrictions?" Harry asked, while he, Ron, Hermione and Ginny flowed with the crowd, heading for the first class.

"Over the top!" Ron commented, shaking his head. "At least there is still a chance we can trample Ravenclaw in three weeks!"

Hermione shook her head, exasperated. "Oh Ron! There are Death Eaters around our school, trying to kill us, the ministry sends Aurors to protect us, and all you, Harry, Head-Boy Malfoy and the others can think of is _Quidditch_?"

Harry shrugged. "Quidditch is important, Mione – not that you would understand," he teased, winking at her. She rolled her eyes, and Ginny giggled. "That was a good suggestion your partner gave Professor McGonagall. I'm impressed," he said.

"That he actually had this particular idea, or that he agreed with you?" Ginny asked coyly, and Harry smirked.

"Both!"

Ron shook his head. "I still think McGonagall and the ministry are overdoing it. The Death Eaters were in the Forbidden Forest, _outside_ of Hogwarts the wards, not _inside_ them!"

"They're being careful," his sister shrugged. "With Death Eaters in Hogsmeade and now near the castle, they're not taking any risks."

"The question we have to ask is, why now? The raid was on Saturday and the Death Eaters were seen Sunday – that was days ago. If the Ministry and McGonagall are so worried about it, why didn't they act on it yesterday?" Hermione mused, outlining the timeline in her mind.

Harry nodded at her. "I agree, Mione. That's what I was thinking as McGonagall gave her speech. And what can we conclude?" He looked his three friends, giving them the answer as he paused. "Something happened that McGonagall just learned of now. Possibly the incident on Sunday was more than just some Death Eaters in the Forbidden Forest."

"After all this isn't the first time that the headmistress didn't know about it," Ron grumbled, shooting Hermione a pointed look she ignored.

But Ginny saw it and snapped, "Well, then be glad that Hermione and Malfoy kept it to themselves, otherwise _none_ of us would have been allowed to go to Hogsmeade last Saturday."

"Oh, and wasn't it a pleasant excursion it was for one and all!" Ron snorted sarcastically.

"Are you saying that the raid in Hogsmeade is our fault?" Hermione challenged him, forgetting she'd decided not to speak to him. Her brown eyes were narrowed, an edge in her voice.

Frowning, Ron retorted: "Well, they wouldn't have come if we'd been forbidden to go to Hogsmeade already, if McGonagall had known that several of the bastards were in the area!"

Red shot into her cheeks while she turned to confront him. "And how long ago was this? Six weeks or more?" Then she frowned. "And now you want to blame _me_ for everything that happened last weekend?" Her voice was rising.

"Hermione ..." Harry began, seeing the argument coming, but Hermione wasn't listening, her temper getting the better of her:

"_Maybe_ you should think about how Lestrange and the others knew about the timing of our trip to Hogsmeade, hmmmm? Or how they could get near the school at all? Or WHY they were in the Forbidden Forest? And while you're considering the really important questions, you might conclude that the latest restrictions have something to do with their sudden departure from the Great Hall yesterday morning?"

Ronald grimaced. "You saying that _Hagrid_ did something that-"

Ginny and Harry moaned, while Hermione exploded. "No, you git! I mean that Hagrid discovered something they'd done in the Forbidden Forest, and that it was awful enough that Kingsley and McGonagall chose to restrict us to the castle!" She huffed impatiently. "Really, Ronald Weasley, instead of thinking up snappy comebacks, you should use your brain for its useful purpose, instead of thinking continually of your next meal!" With those words she stormed off, her eyes blazing, her curls practically electrified.

Ron scratched his head, looking after her, not realizing that many students had halted to listen and watch. "Can someone please tell me, what's got her on her high horse? I mean, she gets…"

"Maybe you should stop harassing her, Weasley. Even I wouldn't treat my own girl friend that way – and am I not the bad boy of this school?" The cool hard voice was directly behind the three. Ginny hid a smile, seeing Malfoy passing them, glancing sharply at her brother.

"You stay out of it, Ferret! You've done enough!" Ron growled, fingering his wand.

Draco paused and turned to face them. His stormy eyes fixed on Ron's petulant blue ones, his face a stoic mask, but his voice was an eerie mixture of iciness and anger: "Yes, I did enough, Weasley – to help your little group and to drag your girlfriend's sweet arse out of danger, which should have been _you_. But keep pouting. You're really good at it, so why bother to change. And should it be necessary, _I _will again keep Granger safe, but certainly not for _you_." He turned, but then looked back. "And one last thing, Weasley: skip the juvenile name calling. You're of age, aren't you? Act like it."

Ron's face had gone tomato red. Harry's "Ron – NO!" came too late. With a snarl, Ron pulled his wand out. "_Verdimillious_!" he shouted.

But the flash didn't reach the Slytherin-Prince. It glanced off the non-verbal, wandless protective charm suddenly surrounding him. The spell rebounded and struck Ron, who was hurled from his feet, and slid several meters across the hard stony floor, gasping for air.

Harry was between the two rivals in the wink of an eye, wand ready, but pointed at neither. "Stop it! Both of you!" he barked, seeing the number of other students circling them.

Ginny rushed to her brother and bent over him, offering him a hand up. "You okay?"

He ignored her and managed to raise himself on unsteady feet. He glared at Malfoy, who had drawn his own wand now. "Stay put, Weasley, or – on your mother's eyes – you will learn today not to mess with me! Twenty points from Gryffindor for attacking the Head-Boy -" all Gryffindors in earshot groaned – "and Detention this evening. I'm certain Professor Slughorn could use your help cleaning up the Potions-classroom after the first- and second-years take their lessons this afternoon!"

He stalked away. The other students instantly made room for him – hoping not to be the target of his irritation, partly out of respect. He _was_ the Head-Boy, after all. And they all saw how unfair it had been fair for Ronald Weasley to attempt to curse him when he had done nothing but talk to him, and didn't even have his wand ready.

Harry took a deep breath, tucking his wand in his pocket, and stared at his ginger-haired friend. "Superb, Ron! Crackerjack! Twenty points taken from us and you in Detention. And I was hoping to work through some strategies with you this evening for our upcoming match."

"And whose fault is it? _Malfoy_ took-"

"You _attacked_ him, for Heaven's sake!" Ginny snapped. "He asked you to stop calling him names and you hurled a curse at him in return! Get a grip, big brother, before you get us into more trouble than you've already caused!"

" 'I already caused'?" her brother squeaked. "What do you meant? Didn't you hear what he said? He calls Hermione by a nick-name, and that he would rescue again, but not for me! So, who for? For himself! What should I think besides -"

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Weasley, Mr. Potter, am I mistaken or should you be in class now?" The stern voice was very familiar and as the three turned, they faced an irritated headmistress, while the gathered crowd scattered.

"Sorry, Professor, on our way now," Harry said quickly, hoping to avoid the loss of further points.

The headmistress gave him a short nod. "I trust so, Potter." It was only as she turned away that Harry saw the wry smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth. He chuckled inwardly. He knew by now that beneath that high-necked dress beat a very warm heart.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Are you certain that you've never heard of such creatures before, Akay?"

Minerva sat in her private office at the small table, serving the Egyptian wizard hot tea, which he gladly accepted. The flames crackled in the fireplace, warming the large room, but the damp chill of the school's climate was getting the better of him. He wasn't accustomed to the weather and wore two robes now, with a black turtle neck jumper and fur boots. McGonagall thought it a bit overdone when she saw his accoutrements the first time, but remembered that he came from a very hot, dry land, and decided that he must be having difficulty adjusting to the climate.

Professor Akay Abdelghani, visiting Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, sipped at the hot, delicious tea and pursed his lips. "Well, to say the truth, Minerva, the description given by Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger are almost identical with the old legends of two of our ancient gods – Basted and Anubis. However, with due all respect, I do think that the nerves of the two young people must have been laid bare. Being in such an emotional stress like the two were can do something like this to the mind."

McGonagall leaned back in her armchair, brow raised. "What do you mean, Akay?"

A gentle smile appeared on the olive face, and the dark eyes sparkled with amusement. "Do you have another explanation why a cat that helped Mr. Malfoy should have had extraordinary long legs and a longer snout than others he has seen, means that it had to be an oriental pet? Here, in the isles? Or why a black dog suddenly has the appearance of an oversized _jackal_? The latter sounds to my ears a little bit like a werewolf, but this could not be. After all, it was daylight and there was no full moon."

Looking thoughtful, the headmistress replied slowly: "I have known Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger since their first day at this school. Neither has ever hallucinated nor overstated anything." She fingered the filigreed spoon on the table before her. "I agree that the chance of two ancient gods of your country appearing here is very, very slight," both smiled at this comment, "but they couldn't be the usual pets. Yes, of course, cats do protect the people they are fond of from time to time, and dogs are well known for their undying loyalty, but I never heard of the case where a dog could chase away a werewolf – neither in his human nor animal form." She refilled her cup, adding sugar. "You are a well-travelled man, Akay, and the teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts. You certainly know more about … oh, unusual beings and their behaviour than anyone else in these walls."

Abdelghani emptied his own cup and placed it on the table. "Thank you for such compliment, Minerva, but I am certain that Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape had an excellent knowledge of those things, too – and, after all, their memories are still very much alive in the portraits. Could none of them-"

Shaking her head, she replied, "No, neither have heard of anything like this – except when wizards and witches are Animagis and change into their animal form. I have asked all the portrait inhabitants about this. I know from my own experience that the human mind is capable of amazing imaginary gyrations, and so the only explanation I can come up with is: the two animals were, in reality, Animagi." She watched him. "And after you confirmed that the appearances of those two 'pets' are the animal forms of two ancient Egyptian gods, I must ask myself ... if two of your students have forgotten to inform us that they are Animagi."

'Ghani blinked several times in surprise, then raised both brows and chuckled. "If this really be our case, Minerva, then it presents news to me as well. According to the regulations in both our countries, every witch or wizard who is an Animagus has the duty to confirm this officially and also to indicate the shape he or she takes after such transformation. And none of my four students have done this."

The headmistress nodded slowly, eyes still on him. He sat relaxed in his chair, his expression was open, his eyes were clear, and he looked straight at her. Nothing indicated that he might be lying or trying to keep a secret. If her suspicions were correct, that two of their guest students had come to the Head students' aid in their Animagi form, then Abdelghani probably didn't know about this ability. She carefully changed the direction of the conversation.

"Assuming – only assuming! – that they concealed something like this from you and took the shapes of two of your old gods, what would this mean regarding their ability? Animagi have the basic character of the animal they become, so what would-"

"Minerva," he interrupted her softly. "Even if – and this is truly a very big _if_ – two of my students could take the animal form of Bastet and Anubis, then there is no one who could tell you what they would be like. You see, in the beginning of our civilisations, the people honoured certain animals they encountered in their lives. Not only those with whom they lived, but also those who crossed their paths and brought danger, risk, or fortune with them. Take for example Bastet. At first there was the lioness, the huntress, who works in tandem with other lionesses to slay their prey while the male watches – something unbelievable to the first primitive human hunters. Of course they feared the female lion, but also adored it. Mehit was the name of the first goddess who was described as a lioness. Later, human attributes were added and she was made to draw now as a woman with a lion head, sometimes with the protection of the cobra with her. But as the times went on, and our ancestors grew more civilized, developing the script and the science, a simple war-goddess was not enough for what they had experienced during the centuries. Someone could be at war and be a brutal killer, but could also enjoy family, dance and music when the battle was over. So Mehit was split into Bastet and her darker sister Sachmet. And at that time, Bastet got the head of a _house_ cat and was identified with the easy, joyful private life, while her sister Sachmet still was the lioness, the warrior. But, to make it clearer, both parts were once one goddess and there was the saying that Sachmet will come out of her sister, if Bastet is constrained."

"And she holds both characteristics. And I think the same for Anubis, Sobek and so on," McGonagall mused, and the man nodded.

"Exactly. The jackal is the symbol of death and the netherworld. After all, you can meet them often near cemeteries – in earlier times more than today – and it was not rare that they dug up corpses to feed on them. Those animals were, of course, eerie for our ancestors and the God of Death was quickly 'born'. As far as I know, the Muggle-historians of today are thinking that this is the reason why the Egyptian people of all those millennia ago made Anubis to a judge of the afterlife. Those who had lived evil lives were eaten, having no chance at an afterlife. Well, regarding the fact that in our old religion there was really a demon who fed on those whose souls were forfeit, the Muggles have a good idea about how it began."

Sipping her second cup of tea, Minerva watched him over the top of her spectacles. "So, if someone took the shape of Anubis, he or she would judge, guard the dead, and prefer the night." She lowered her cup. "But why would a werewolf like Greyback flee from him or her? Greyback has born this curse for more than twenty years. He loves it now and even uses it in hunting children, to infect them as well. He has learned much from the other Death Eaters during the last two and a half years, he is skilled in the Dark Arts. He is even able to shift into a black fog as only several very well trained Death Eaters were or are able to. Why should be such a strong creature afraid of an Animagus in form of Anubis?"

"You mean, if there _is _an Animagus," Akay corrected with a kind smile, then he slowly shook his head. "I would not know, Minerva. There are werewolves in our country, too. To say this truth, the legends of people changing into beasts during full moon are very old in Egypt, but I never heard that a werewolf in his animal form would flee from a dog or a jackal. He or she would slay the other true animal, no doubt here."

Again McGonagall eyed him carefully, keeping to herself that special feeling that he wasn't telling her anything; that he was keeping something from her, or even – which would be worse – lying through his teeth. There was a well known tingling in her neck and her belly warning her to skip the topic for the present, but she wouldn't abandon it. She felt in a very special place inside that the path to the answer was right in front of her, but she was wise enough to know that she must not press it for the moment.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Edis stretched long legs, hurrying down the hallway toward the library. The weather was causing him difficulties, as well. The chill had crept into the stone castle, and he asked himself again why the staff at Hogwarts seemed to be unable to keep the temperature on a certain level. In the late summer, the heat had been oppressive within these walls, and now the autumn seemed to invade the school, despite its thick walls.

Rounding a corner, he suddenly encountered Akay Abdelghani. The teacher raised his right index finger to his mouth and gestured for Edis to follow him. Curious, wary, the young wizard trailed after him, and together they entered a classroom, Abdelghani closed the door, and sealed it with several charms, making certain that their conversation would not be overheard, before he addressed him in their native tongue:

"You and the others _must_ be more careful. McGonagall is tracking you down, step by step."

Edis cocked his head, his light amber eyes flashed. "Impossible! She cannot know-"

"Since you and Neriman helped Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy, both recognized that something was out of order concerning the strange 'pets'." Akay chuckled when he saw the offended expression on the young man's face at the word 'pets'. "Both stated that a wolf-like creature, looking very much like an oversized black jackal, chased away the Death Eater with name of Greyback – a werewolf, as I now know– and… Edis, calm down!"

"That foul creature!" the student spat. "It's very existence offends me! None of them should…"

He stopped as his professor laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Easy, young friend. We both know that it isn't you who is speaking now – nor who acted back there in Hogsmeade." He watched Edis taking a deep breath and continued. "The young Malfoy indicated further that a black cat attacked one of the Death Eaters – a relative of his, if I understood him correctly – and that it acted as if it knew exactly what it was doing. It even snarled at him, as if sending him away while it took care of the man who tried to kill him. And late Saturday night I had to deal with one of the house-elves that saw you and Neriman in … your other forms passing through the hallways."

Edis' eyes widened, then he uttered an oath, and Abdelghani nodded. "Yes, you can make the portraits and witnesses sleep, slip past the wards, and creep through the hallways in different shapes, but neither the professors nor the students here are stupid. McGonagall is a highly experienced witch with extensive magical abilities, and the two Head Students and Harry Potter and his friends may be young – as you – but they are all very intelligent, surprisingly skilled in many ways. They had to advance in many areas during the war. And among them is a very smart girl, who was raised by Muggles and was (and is) familiar with their forms of fantasy and entertainment – thus she is more willing to believe the irregular, even in the wizarding world, and will decipher more than we want."

The young man sighed. "So, what shall we do? We must locate the artefacts to prevent Penhuibin's rebirth before his followers do. And we're running out of time. We have to act on it now and…"

"But not by becoming careless! As I already told you, a house-elf saw you and Neriman last Saturday night. I was able to put him off, but what if the next time a student sees you?"

Glancing at his professor, Edis replied: "You know that we're putting all in the dormitories asleep before we leave. It is highly unlikely that one of them will see us."

Abdelghani rubbed his forehead. "Hopefully. I don't want to face our headmistress again and explain to her why not only a jackal and a cat are helping her students, but why there are also strangers in the shape of Anubis, Bastet, Uraenus and Sobek roaming the Hogwarts' hallways."

Placing a dark hand on the shoulder of the older man, Edis answered, "We will be careful, Professor, I promise. Thursday, when the moon is again full, Layla will-"

Akay shook his head. "No, not now! Our entire project must be placed on hold until the next full moon." Edis wanted to protest, but his professor lifted a commanding hand. "There is no other way, Edis! Aurors are arriving at Hogwarts this day to strengthen the wards. They may be here for several days. The Minister of Magic and Professor McGonagall are very, very worried about the raid by those so-called Death Eaters. And there is more." He watched the gold amber eyes of the young man, and sighed: "A centaur was killed here on Sunday, just outside the borders. He was a seer, very gifted as I've heard, and he was murdered with an unknown killing curse – an unknown or forgotten one, may I add."

Edis took a deep breath. "A member of the _Mushāya'at Penhuibin_?"

Abdelghani shrugged. "Possibly. And if so, I am concerned that there is one so near to Hogwarts." He eyed his student who was gifted in so many ways. "Tell Layla and the others that the 'visit' to the British Museum must wait until the Aurors have relaxed their vigil somewhat, and I have learned exactly what was done with the wards. If one of us is caught leaving Hogwarts at night, or seen in other forms because the new security measures gave alarm, we're in a sand trap."

The young wizard frowned again, a snarl showing at his mouth – a signal that his inner 'other' was stronger at the moment. "Why do we not contact Shacklebolt? Why do we not tell him the truth of our purpose here and ask for his help?"

"I already told you why!" Abdelghani responded. "First, this is an Egyptian affair! Second, there are still too many dark wizards and witches in this land, certainly still searching for a replacement for their 'Dark Lord' and would leap at another chance to follow the insanity of the _Mushāya'at Penhuibin_. And third, if we tell Shacklebolt about our mission, he will have to make certain that we're telling the truth, contacting our minister, and then the _Mushāya'at Penhuibin_ will _know_ where to search for their missing relics. And if they recover them before the time of Penhuibin's rebirth has passed, the world will never be the same again!"

He sighed again and grasped the other's arm. "No, Edis, we have to do this alone. We are entrusted with this from our circle, we who have joined to prevent Penhuibin's ways and his followers for over three thousand years now. And the less our hosts are involved in it the better it is." He stepped back. "I trust that you will inform Neriman, Layla and Abdel about our change of plan, and that none of you will act on your own accord."

Nodding towards him he went for the door and removed the sealing charms. "Wait a minute before you leave. It would not befit us if someone saw us coming out of an empty classroom together!"

Grumbling, Edis nodded, cursing inwardly that the Hogwarts' staff seemed so difficult to deceive.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

That evening, every student entering the Great Hall for dinner saw the two tall wizards clad in dark robes and leather tunics, standing by the double doors, watching them carefully: two of the Aurors from the Ministry. Four more Aurors were patrolling outside in the school yard, the adjacent yards and the open hallways, as well as the gallery bridge. One was also on the Astronomy tower – a great disappointment to the couples who loved to go up there for some stolen moments of privacy – and it was rumoured that a dozen other Aurors were in the area. It was clear that the ministry wanted to demonstrate presence and power, and even Lestrange would have been suicidal to come near Hogwarts or Hogsmeade just now.

"The Aurors will only stay within the school for a few days to help us set the protective spells and test them," McGonagall explained, after the students took their seats. "And before anyone asks about the next Quidditch game, it will take place on the scheduled date, because Minister Shacklebolt was generous enough to assign Aurors to watch the pitch and its surroundings for the last weekend in November." This news was greeted by a round of cheers and applause.

Well, confirmation of the next Quidditch match lightened the mood around the school, but the presence of the Aurors put everyone on edge. They felt watched, and uneasy. They all knew that the Aurors were there to protect them, but that didn't change the fact of their presence, nor the reason for their need. Hermione watched Hank Trees sitting at the teachers' table and grimaced. She didn't like the man. She told herself sternly this hadn't anything to do with the fact that this man threatened her Head-partner and rescuer like a criminal. No, her dislike was based upon ... something else. She didn't know what, but … no, it wasn't because he treated Malfoy unfairly last Saturday. But as her eyes slid carefully over to the Slytherin table, she saw the pale, stoic face of Draco and the cold look he flashed Trees, she felt the impulse to go to him and to encourage him.

'_Hermione, get a grip! He would neither welcome nor accept that – especially in the Great Hall!'_

McGonagall's next words dragged her attention back to the headmistress. "Now, about the night patrols by the Prefects and Senior Students: for the next seven days, the Aurors will patrol the hallways to search for vulnerable areas left by the wards and to increase the protective spells. Therefore _no one_ should be out of their dormitories after nine o'clock, no matter what. If there is an emergency, then please use the floo-network to contact your House-teacher. The connection of the common rooms and the offices and private quarters will be available around the clock."

The rumbling of murmurs started, and she added with a loud voice: "And I do hope that this extra time will be used for your studies. I shouldn't have to remind the seventh years that the pre-tests for their N.E.W.T.s will be shortly before Christmas and that in January several exams await you. And the fifth- and sixth-years should be preparing as well. The O.W.L.s are no picnic!"

Ginny moaned, remembering. "She's right about that!"

Hermione nodded. "Well, I for one will be working on my Arithmancy and Defense Against the Dark Arts. What about you, Harry?"

Her long time friend grimaced. "I have to buckle down with Herbology." He met her disbelieving look and shrugged: "Hey, I have to pass that if I want to become an Auror! To tell you the truth, Neville was a big help during my sixth year, but now … I'm no gardener!" he joked.

"Yeah, and my finest moments in the garden are spent hunting gnomes," Ron sighed, reaching over the table for some steamed vegetables. "Those were good times…"

"Heads up, Ron, good times will come again," Ginny told him, giving him a quick hug around the shoulders

"You mean, if Trees and his men are good for more than cornering students with stupid questions and even dafter accusations, but do their job, like catching Lestrange and the others," Hermione groused, sipping her pumpkin juice.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, offering Ginny the meat platter.

"Trees thinks Draco had something to do with the raid on Hogsmeade. Completely rubbish! His own uncle tried to kill him twice! Other Death Eaters tried to murder him, too, but he fought at our side, even protected you, Harry! And this Trees wants to put him in Azkaban."

Ginny gaped at her, then glanced carefully over to the Slytherin table, then to Trees and back again. "Idiot!" she grumbled, while her brother mumbled, his mouth again full, "At leas' one more thinks the same as me."

Hermione glared at him, reminding him again of his mother. "For pity's sake, Ronald, drop that schoolboy behaviour!"

"He gave me Detention!" the ginger haired wizard protested, still barely comprehensible.

She threw up her hands. "By Groderic's sword, empty your mouth before you speak! Sweet Merlin, what are you? Six?"

He gulped it down and stared at her. "And what are you? My mother?"

Hermione snorted. "Your mother would give you a piece of her mind now, and I don't think you'd find that very tasty."

Before her brother could respond, Ginny nodded: "She's right, Ron. Watch your manners!"

Ron and Harry exchanged a glance. '_Girls!_' Then dessert appeared on the table, and amid the sugar, everything else was forgotten.

They didn't see the cautious glance of Layla wandering over toward them from time to time, nor did they observe the heated glares of Trees and a certain blond wizard.

Nor did they notice McGonagall's worried expression, eyes roaming the Great Hall as if the old walls could give her answers to all the questions troubling her …

TBC…

_So, my dear Readers, that the death of the centaur would lead to other things, was for sure, wasn't it? And that McGonagall tries to solve the riddle of the 'cat' and the 'dog' was to expect, too, but neither her nor our heroes are ready for what will come next…_

_In the next chapter, an encounter for Harry, Hermione and Draco will start that will change a lot. They already saw their guest-students in their 'ancient shape' as shadows, but to see them for real and to cross their path for true, will be more eerie and dangerous as they ever thought…_

_I do hope you liked the last chapter, including the 'historical' moment of Harry and Draco agreeing at something and even endorse each other (yeah, Quidditch can do a lot of things to people, laugh). Please, please leave some reviews,_

_Have a nice weekend and week,_

_Yours Lywhn _


	29. Fallowing the Riddles

_Dear Readers,_

_As 'usual' here is the next chapter at the beginning of a weekend. As I gave a hint last time, in this new part our friends are going to face new riddles, which will lead them straight to more enigmas and trouble._

_Thank you so much, once again, for the reviews. And for those, who are eager to read finally more about the Egyptian 'gods', which seem to roam through Hogwarts, will certainly be satisfied with the next three chapters._

_But enough pre-announcements. _

_Have fun with the new update,_

_Y__ours Lywhn_

**Chapter 28 – Following the Riddles**

Reluctantly following McGonagall's excellent advice, most Prefects used the extra time the next few evenings to concentrate on their studies, inevitably providing a good example for their house mates (resulting in most students' grades improving by at least one letter). They cleared out the study niches, the library, and the Great Hall before the clock tower announced nine o'clock. Only then did they retreat to their dormitories as well.

Hermione and Draco were always the last to withdraw to their area, still taking their responsibility for the rest of the students very seriously, then used the 'free' evenings to study as well.

True to her word, McGonagall ordered Filch to allow the Quidditch teams into the Great Hall during free periods, team by team. Once the Gryffindors had practice, once Ravenclaw took their chance to prepare for the next match. The furniture was moved to the walls, sealed there with a charm, as were the large windows. The other students, for the most part, were shrewd enough not to enter the large room, because seven determined athletes on brooms, hurling quaffles and bludgers at lightning speed in an enclosed space, could be hazardous.

Draco ensured that the Great Hall was returned order again before he released the teams from practice – earning a few glares, but he shrugged them off – then he entrusted the two captains with the responsibility. Both Harry and Joe made certain that there was no reason for McGonagall to regret her improbable decision. The following Monday, the Aurors allowed them to train outside above the courtyard with the same precautions. Draco charged the two team leaders, knowing that they wouldn't leave the yard in disarray. A quick nod from Harry in a hallway after practice, and the same from Joe Gallahan, Ravenclaw's captain, and he was reassured that there would be no lecture this evening from the headmistress.

Draco gradually became aware of a new development: something had shifted between him and Potter since the raid. They were not only being civil to each other, but they had formed a kind of truce, which made associating with each other a great deal easier. And as he and Potter were teamed up by Slughorn during Potions class, they acted together to master the job, delivering a potion that was equal to Hermione's, who smiled at both of them, clearly happy to see them working so well together.

But Hermione and Ron were not. Both were stubborn as a rusty padlock, both had fiery tempers and both were sure they were right. But, Harry admitted to himself, both _were_ right. In his opinion, Ron had behaved badly by shouting at Hermione, accusing her of cheating on him (something that was so far outside her nature as to be laughable). But he also admitted (to himself) that there _was_ a certain chemistry between the two Head Students that seemed to create a spark whenever they were together. Harry could see the electricity between them that _had_ to resolve in some way. Ginny had also seen enough sparks between them to set all of Hogwarts in flames.

If emotions had been obvious in public, the feelings were stronger when they were together. They shared several classes this year. Draco was repeating classes that had been compromised the year before, and Hermione was brilliant as ever, taking everything she could get into her schedule. They could help each other. Both were impressed by the knowledge and skills of the other. They practiced charms and spells together, trained one another in techniques of Transfiguration and compared/shared notes on the endless events and dates of History of Magic, then quizzed each other.

But all the hours in practice and all the books in the library could not erase what they'd shared together. A dozen times Draco caught himself daydreaming about the night he held this girl in his arms, fending off her nightmares after the raid in Hogsmeade, and finding peace for himself beside her. And there were times he dared to let the innocence of those memories evolve into something more – something involving more than the two chaste pecks he gave her in the little village while a battle raged about them. He imagined himself holding her close and kissing her like he did after their foolish duel. He dreamed of unwrapping those layers of clothes from her sweet delicious skin and exploring every curve, every niche, every sensitive spot of that body. And when he came to himself, it always left him shocked, aroused, and with an increased yearning he found it harder and harder to suppress. He hoped but couldn't know if Hermione was facing similar difficulties.

She, too, well remembered the moments in Hogsmeade as she felt Draco's mind touching hers, reassuring her, and then the moment he appeared at the corner, his coat flying about him like a superhero's cape, wand poised, face more determined than she'd ever seen. The moment he pulled her into his arms after Greyback had shoved her to the ground and fled from the jackal, something had changed in her. Never before she had felt so protected as during those stolen moments when she clung to her Head-partner and felt his strong arms around her, while he buried his face in her hair. She had felt safe, secure, even loved. And then the evening after her ugly argument with Ron … when Draco took her hand and pulled her into the common room to share a nightcap with her, she felt really whole for the first time in her life. To sit with him in front of the golden fire, sipping sherry and speaking with him about things she would only, eventually, share with Ginny, had been an intense experience. And when she thought back to the following morning, realizing that he had enlarged the sofa and had slept beside her, obviously holding her all night, her heartbeat raced and those butterflies all launched themselves into her belly at once. And when she looked at him, sitting there on his sofa, parchments and books around him, she ached to reach out and slip her fingers through that soft pale golden hair. He was a living temptation with his lean, tall body, his panache and his aristocratic features – and so deliciously forbidden that she felt her mouth watering.

So the evenings following the arrival of the Aurors passed. Having nothing better to do than study – and desperately focusing away from each other to their books and papers – they sat together in their common room on their sofas, or at the table, writing essays or reading, the books and parchments spread all over the table and the empty seats, sometimes even on the floor. The routine that had developed before the trip to Hogsmeade was re-established and they often did their homework together, borrowing each other's books, discussing different themes over a hot chocolate or tea, watching the sparks from the fire dodging the flames to retreat up the chimney into the icy autumn air outside. They kept their minds active and their bodies reined. Yes, it was almost painful to be so close to the other while disciplining themselves to be wary of what their souls and bodies demanded, but it was a sweet torment – one of those described by the medieval poets, that most people thought to be fantasy until they experienced exactly the same thing

Ten days after the Aurors arrived, McGonagall declared that the fortifications to the wards were completed, and that the Prefects and Head-Students could return to do their evening patrols. The schedule for patrols was somewhat confused because Robards insisted that the Head-Students and the older Prefects should do the first rounds together, being briefed about the new wards by one of the younger, female Aurors. Several teachers who had advised the Aurors about the possible including the heads of houses and 'Ghani, accompanied them. Hermione and Draco could tell it would take several days before the patrol schedule would be finalized.

It was at the third Thursday after the Hogsmeade incident before everything was back to normal around the castle. The students – especially Harry – had tried to find out exactly what happened on that fateful Sunday, but it seemed as though the entire staff had been forced to make the Unbreakable Vow about it. And because the material in their classes was growing exponentially more difficult, most had other things to think about.

Not so the D.A. and, by extension, Draco Malfoy. They knew that something horrible and important must have taken place, and there was the riddle concerning the Egyptians and the mysterious creatures roaming the area, Anubis and Basted, as well as Abdel's apparent healing skills. Harry checked the _Mauroder's Map_ every evening and sometimes during the night, but besides the additional Aurors and later, in the late evening, the Prefects, he found no one out of place, students or staff.

Hermione and Draco did their evening patrol now on Thursdays. This worked out well, for the time being, for it coincided with the next full moons. Both Head Students and the D.A. were convinced that their guests could be expected to be active again during that phase. However this evening, heavy clouds obscured the sky, and also, it was new moon. Still the two Heads did not patrol alone, but were accompanied by Luna and Ginny, following McGonagall's direction to increase the patrol with more than two students.

Hermione had suggested that they all split up, but Draco would have none of it. Pairing up was better, and in the end, Ginny and Luna went together and the other two walked their rounds.

As they met up around midnight again, none had seen anything unusual – which was unusual. The two Slytherin and the two Hufflepuff Prefects who had patrol duty the day before reported in the morning that they hadn't caught anyone out during their rounds. So it was the second evening that every single student in school behaved exactly as required – a very remarkable occurrence in a school that size. They bid each other good night and parted. Ginny stared after Hermione, seeing how she walked with Malfoy side by side down the hallway, talking quietly with him. He nodded, very natural with her, and Ginny even thought she saw him smiling as they rounded the next corner. Pursing her lips met Luna's inquiring look.

"I have to agree with Harry. Something is going on between those two. They're acting quite familiar with each other, and there is a glow in Hermione when she's around Draco. And he can barely take his eyes off her."

Luna smiled from her hidden store of knowledge. "Sometimes fate has to be cruel to make blind eyes see," she said, and nudged her ginger-haired friend. "Come on, let's get back to the towers. I am certain Harry can't wait to see you again."

Ginny smiled at the other girl, accustomed to her frankness, then, biting her lip, looked one last time in the direction of the Head-Students' dormitory, then shook her head indecisively. "I know my brother is being a moron at the moment, but I do think that he has a point ..." As she caught the query in the large blue eyes, she explained: "Malfoy has developed a soft spot for Mione, and she … well … let's just say she is drawn to him, not only because of a life debt. Perhaps his kiss affected her more than she knows."

"He _kissed_ her?"

Luna was not one who loved to gossip. She'd been the victim of it too often, and knew how it felt, but she felt the curiosity every girl knew when romance was involved.

Ginny grinned at her. "Well … yes, after they duelled." She chuckled at the perplexed expression on her friend's face. "He stunned her and then … well… Come on, I'll tell you what I know on our way up to the towers."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione found sleep easily this night. She was too tired to stay up any longer, washing up, then slipping beneath her comforter. Crookshanks rolled into a tight furry ball at her side. She soon drifted off and her sleep was peaceful, without nightmares for once.

She didn't know how long she'd remained unconscious, but suddenly a warm, almost burning sensation on her chest woke her. At first she ignored it, slumbering so deeply, but then the heat grew and with a moan, she opened her eyes and reached for the source of the disturbing sensation, only to finger the D.A.-Coin. Instantly she was wide awake, sat up and took her wand from her nightstand. With a flick she lit the candle, pulled the silver chain from under her nightdress and looked at the coin.

At first it appeared a normal Knut, but if looking more closely, you could see letters appearing around the edge of the coin.

_'Come to door – HP'_

Hermione's heart leaped. Harry was sending her a message via the coin! It meant that it was an emergency. Quickly she touched the coin with her wand, sending a message back _**'I'm coming'**_, and not wasting another second, she hurled her comforter aside – her pet protested – rose and slipped hastily into a pair of jeans and a warm, dark sweater, pulled socks on, took her wand, a moment later and was on her way to the entrance; ignoring Lady Hillary's sleepily: "Where're you goin', sweetheart?"

"_Lumos_!" she whispered, her wandtip illuminated the way through the darkened common room. Even the fire was only dim orange coals by now, and so it was pitch black around her. Quietly she unlocked the door and pulled it open. Outside she saw nothing for a moment, then, out of nowhere, Harry's tousled head appeared, sighing in relief. "Mione, thank goodness!"

She pulled him into the common room, and he yanked the invisibility cloak from his shoulders after she had closed the portrait hole behind him. "Harry, what's going on?" she whispered. "It's in the middle of the night. You'll get in awful trouble if you're caught."

He waved her question aside and walked to the fireplace. After refreshing the fire, he pulled out the _Mauroder's Map_ and touched it with his wand, murmuring the words which would engage the magic of the map, "'_I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!' _I found something concerning those Egyptian 'gods'," he whispered. "Something that cannot be, but seems nevertheless real." Intrigued, she crouched down beside him and looked at the map. "Here," Harry murmured. "Do you see that Neriman is in the girl's room with Ginny and Wilhelmina?" he continued, pointing at the second floor of the Gryffindor tower, where the curved scrip showed the names of the three girls. "And now look here, near the east wing." He pointed at another part of the chart, where to hallways crossed. And there was the script, too, showing Neriman's name, along with Abdel and Edis as well. And all three seemed to have the shadow of another script beneath.

"What…?" Hermione murmured, confused.

Harry nodded and opened the map to the dungeons. "Here, look at the Slytherins' dormitory: Abdel is also in his bed." Then he turned the map. "And Edis in the Ravenclaw tower, too."

Hermione rubbed her forehead. "Could this be a mistake? The map must be … defective or something," she started, but Harry shook his head.

"The _Mauroder's Map_ is always right. Remember our third year, when it showed Pettigrew, even though he was in his Animagus shape as a rat? Even Remus said that the map was never wrong."

"But… how can it show them in their beds and also out of them, somewhere else?" she protested, her voice rising.

"Shh," Harry hushed her, glancing quickly into the direction of Malfoy's private room, but everything was silent there. He took a deep breath and returned to the map. "If our three guests are in bed and out of it in the _same time_, then we have to deal with it." He looked straight at her. "I need your help, Mione. I wanted to check what or who is really in Neriman's bed, but Ginny does not respond to the coin summons, which makes me uneasy. Could you check the girl's dorm in our tower? I can't go there, but you can."

Hermione's eyes were wide. "Ginny doesn't respond? That's… most unusual. I mean, even I woke up, and I was dead asleep, believe me." She rose and propped her hands on her hips. "You do know that we can both get in a world of trouble if a teacher or Filch finds us?"

The well known grin appeared while he rose, folded the map and put it beneath his jacket. "'A world of trouble' is our bread and butter, Hermione. A very clever witch told me once that rules were made to be broken – or something like that."

Of course she remembered well the moment she said this, and rolled her eyes. "I knew I would regret those words one day." She sighed. "Wait here a moment, I have to get some shoes and…"

"Granger?"

Draco's sleepy voice reached them from the staircase, and the platinum blond hair now appeared in the dim firelight as he entered barefoot and pyjama'd into the common room. Thunderstruck, he saw his partner and the boy who lived, now turned to him, wearing shocked expressions. In a second he was fully awake. "Might I ask what this is about?" he asked, eyes narrowed and an edge to his tone.

Hermione and Harry exchanged a quick look – _not good! _– and the she took a step towards him. "It's… it's an emergency," she said, meeting his hard grey eyes.

"Really?" he asked, glaring at Harry. He didn't know why, but catching them at night in a secret meeting awoke an indignation that darted in his veins and settled in his chest. Crossing his arms, he glanced at her. "What kind of 'emergency'?" He heard the suspicion in the question, and he inwardly rolled his eyes. _'Jealous much?'_ his inner voice taunted. _'Yes'_ came the answer. He knew that Potter was Hermione's closest friend and that the two were thick as thieves, but the possessive urge inherited from his family flamed up in him. _Hermione was his and his alone!_ He almost grimaced. She most certainly was not 'his' – not yet. But that would change soon enough.

Narrowing her eyes at his tone, Hermione lifted defiantly her chin. "An emergency concerning our Egyptian riddle. Do you have a problem with that?"

For a protracted moment, he only stared at her, pushing back his jealousy, then the rational part of him regained control and he lifted a brow: "Go on!"

Harry stepped forward; feeling the irritation of the Dragon Prince like the heat of an open torch. Heavens, what had gotten into Malfoy? Was he really this upset because his sleep was interrupted, or because he found them here together in the common room? And if the latter, why would that make him angry? The answer to these questions tugged at his mind, but he didn't dare voice his thoughts. Clearing his throat, he said: "I found out that our guests are out of their rooms, again – now, right this minute."

This got Draco's attention. "How? Where are they?"

"In a hallway at the east wing," Potter answered as calmly as he could.

"All of them?"

Hermione looked back at her friend, who pursed his lips. "No. Layla is still in her dorm, and nowhere to be found outside of it."

Cocking his head, Malfoy lifted a brow. "How would you know?"

Shrugging, Harry stated: "I know. That's all you'll get tonight." Then, "You said you wanted to help solve this riddle. Now you really can do something." As the Head-Boy only watched him, waited for him to continue, he added: "You can check on Abdel in the Slytherin dormitory. Look and see what or who really lies in his bed right this moment."

Draco dropped his arms and came nearer. "Have you been hit on the head, Potter?" he sneered, falling back into his old pattern. "First you said three of our four guests are outside in the hallways, and now you want to send me to my house to check if one is still in bed. If you want to get rid of me, Wonder-Boy, you certainly have to come up with better plan than that"

Green and silver glared at each other, the old anger awakening again. Hermione stepped between them. "Boys, calm down." She lifted her gaze towards Malfoy. "Harry is telling the truth, Draco. I was just about to check on Neriman and-"

"Granger, give me some credit here. A person can't be in two places at one time – even we wizards can't do that." His jaw was set, his face hard. He _hated_ it when someone thought he could put one over on him.

"This may be one of the answers we are searching for, but we have to act quickly. Neriman, Abdel and Edis seemed to be in their beds, but also out in the school. If we find out where…"

"_Potter_!" Malfoy interrupted him, now really angry. "Stop it! If you want me to check on someone in my own house, you'll have to come with something more concrete than-"

"Harry, show him!" Hermione's patience was wearing through, while she glared up at the Head-Boy.

"WHAT?" Harry didn't trust his own ears. She couldn't mean what he thought she meant, could she?

Looking over her shoulder to him, Hermione declared: "If we want Draco to help us in this, he needs to know HOW we know. Show him!"

Harry stared at her, then back at the other young wizard, who lifted a brow, clearly curious now. _No! No way!_ He would never show Malfoy of all people the _Mauroder's Map_! "You can't be serious," he blurted.

That moment an enraged Hermione was in his face. "If you don't trust him, he has no reason to trust you! And trust is our most important asset at the moment, if we want to best those so called 'gods' and what they're up to! We're not children anymore, so forget the past and show Draco what's necessary for him to believe that we're not insane!"

Amused, wary, Malfoy watched this encounter and smirked. "She really is bossy, isn't she, Potter?"

Harry snorted. "It can be scary sometimes!" One last look at the determined face of the girl, he knew that he had no other choice. They needed Malfoy, and if the Slytherin didn't believe him, there would be no help from him. Indeed, why would he possibly believe them?

Sighing, Harry reached into his jacket and pulled out the folded map, tapped it with his wand and opened it, muttering the spell under his breath. Curious, Malfoy approached and looked down on the map, revealing not only every single inch of Hogwarts, but also many, many names. "What… what is this?" he asked.

"A map my father and his friends created when they attended Hogwarts," Harry answered. "It shows you exactly where everyone is."

Unbelieving Draco snorted, and Hermione rolled her eyes. "Here are we," she said, pointing to their own common room on the map, where their three names were placed, by the fireplace. "Now watch what happens to mine," she instructed and walked away, up to her room and back. As she returned, Malfoy's jaw was dropped was on his chest, his eyes wide as saucers, while he glanced from the map to her and back again. "Do you believe it now?" she asked, amused.

"That's … that's … _fantastic_!" Astonishment and delight were in his voice, then he frowned. "This explains how you can roam through Hogwarts without being caught, Potter. An invisibility cloak and a map showing everyone's locations…" He shook his head, before he smoothed his tousled hair. "And I always asked myself how you did what you did."

"And here are our guests, and here they are, too," Harry came back to the reason of his visit. Malfoy bent down and observed the places carefully. "And you're positive that this map is not faulty?" he asked, staring back and forth at the names, printed in two different places. As Harry, nodded, the Slytherin took a deep breath. "All right," he said slowly. "I'll check on Abdel, and you, Granger, on Neriman. What about the other two?"

Harry shook his head. "I can't reach Luna to check on Edis. Girls can go into the boys' rooms, but not the other way around, so she might have had a look on him, but… she doesn't answer."

"Answer?" Draco looked between to two Gryffindor-students back and forth, and he realized of what they were speaking. "The summoning coins. You enchanted some Knuts for them again." He glanced at this Head-partner. "That was the clever arrangement you thought up in our fifth year."

She blushed slightly. "Yeah. I got the idea from the Dark Marks and how they work."

A low chuckle escaped Malfoy, before he frowned. "What about Abdelghani? Is he in the hallways, too?"

Harry shook his head. "No, in his chambers and hasn't moved since I watched the map."

"Good, one less to look after," Draco grumbled, then he strode toward his room. "Wait here a minute, Potter, I'll change into something more suitable. Granger, don't forget your Head-Girl-badge. If we get caught outside our dorm this late, we'll never hear the end of it. We have to battle to show some kind of reason for it, like … another late night patrol."

Hermione looked after him, grinning. "Sometimes he really has good ideas!"

"Not sometimes! Always!" the voice came from the stairwell to her and Harry, who smirked. What had happened to that arrogant, nasty brat during the last few weeks?

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Five minutes later the three of them skulked through the hallway – the two Head-Students and their invisible companion. And the first oddity they came across was that all the portraits were deeply asleep. Normally there would be several demanding darkness and quiet, but every witch or wizard they passed snored, dead asleep.

As they reached the stairs, Draco turned around, whispering: "I'm off to the dungeons. We meet here again in a quarter hour!" Not waiting for their response, the pure-blood vanished down the stairs, which decided to change direction when he was barely halfway down. Hermione suppressed a giggle as she heard him cursing and whispered over her shoulder, where she Harry knew followed. "Careful, Harry. We don't know what we're dealing with here."

"You, too, Hermione. Don't get caught by whatever waits there in the girl's dorms. And please check on Ginny," came the quiet reply. With a final nod, the Head-Girl took off. Several minutes later she reached the door to Gryffindor-tower and woke the Fat Lady, which cost her a long moment until the wanna-be opera singer yawned and finally looked at her, baffled.

"Dearie, do you know how late it is?"

"Yes, please," Hermione answered and suddenly got an idea. "Please, pink lady, have you seen anyone leaving the tower?" As she only received a dumbfounded gaze, she added: "Did our Egyptian guest leave the dormitory during this night?"

The Fat Lady raised a brow. "My dear, if a student wanted to leave the dorms late at night, I would have given them a lecture that Professor McGonagall would have been proud of! No one left the tower tonight!"

Hermione frowned. She had needed minutes to waken the portrait, and the Fat Lady says she would have seen someone leave? Sighing, she gave the password and after a long, hard stare the portrait door swung open.

It was dark in the common room, only a small bed of embers in the fireplace, the rest of the room an illusion of shadows. The furniture were only dim shapes, but Hermione didn't mind. She knew this place better than her own pocket, and without hesitation she found her way to the staircase, and climbed to the girls' bedrooms. She knew that Neriman shared a room with Ginny, Wilhelmina and two other girls from the seventh year – the same room she occupied for six years. Taking a deep breath, Hermione opened the door and slipped into the room, listening to the steady breathing around her. The large fireplace warmed the room, and flames showed her the way to the poster beds, curtains partly drawn.

With a sudden flutter in her chest, the Gryffindor-Queen tiptoed to the one she knew was Ginny's, and pulled the curtain aside. The dark red hair was spread over the pillows, showed were the Weasley-daughter slept, and one look on her face proved that Ginerva was far away in dreamland. Lifting a brow, Hermione bent forwards and pulled the comforter back a bit and saw the Summoning-Coin on Ginny's chest. Ron's sister _had_ to feel its heat, but still she slept like a dead person. And this was strange. Ginny had never been hard to waken.

Muttering "_Silencio_!" Hermione raised a silencing charm around the bed, in case Ginny exclaimed upon awakening, and then gently shook her friend. Nothing happened. Even when she shook harder, Ginny's eyes didn't open, and her breathing remained unchanged. Her face hardened, realizing that here was something very, very unusual. The Head-Girl tiptoed to the next bed, where Wilhelmina lay sleeping, with the same result: the girl didn't wake up. Only her cat hissed angrily at Hermione.

'_A sleeping spell – a good one!'_ she suddenly understood. And she already had a good idea who did it. She strode to the bed near the window that belonged to Neriman, raised her wand and yanked the curtain aside. Under the blanket was the shape of a female body. There was even a head on the pillow. She leaned in for a clearer view of it, and suddenly felt a warm, sticky drowsiness coming upon her, making her dizzy, and she felt her eyes grow heavy.

Anger flared up in her. She would NOT fall for a stupid charm that witch had put around her bed! Fighting down the growing lethargy, she gave her head a hard shake and ripped the comforter off and looked down on … nothing. Where Neriman was supposed to be lying, the bed was empty. Almost empty. The next thing she saw was something at the edge of the pillow. Muttering "_Lumos,_" she took a closer look at ... a doll. It was small, handmade, carved out of something that looked like wax. The little body was covered with symbols Hermione could not identify, but one thing was clear: the doll was female, with long black hair painted on it.

Biting her lips, the Head Girl weighed her options. She was tempted to pick it up for a closer examination, but she didn't dare touching it. She didn't know how the magic Neriman used worked. It could be that the Egyptian girl would sense immediately that something was wrong and returned. It was possible that the doll would somehow 'remember' who touched it and Neriman would learn that her secret was no longer a secret anymore and who found out about her little tricks, bringing nasty consequences. Neither Hermione, nor Harry nor the D.A. – nor Draco – knew their guests' intentions, and it would be wiser to allow them to believe that they were still working in secret. Another suspicion stayed her hand: the doll might be cursed. She hadn't the slightest clue the spells Neriman had used, and she didn't want to find out while alone. Only one thing was crystal clear: this doll definitely held the identity of Neriman, otherwise the _Marauder's Map_ wouldn't show her name as present in this room, as well as in the east wing of the school.

"Neat trick," Hermione whispered. There was no risk of their absence being discovered, fooling every security charm Hogwarts had in place. Biting her lower lip, she pulled up the cover and retreated, made certain the curtains were as before and left, after another final look at Ginny, at the dark and peaceful room. Slipping down the steps from the bedrooms, she considered wakening Ron telling him what she found out, but pushed the idea away. If Harry hadn't wakened Ron there was a reason for it. Besides, she wasn't ready to face his foul temper right now.

Finding herself back in the common room, she thought for a moment about this situation. She was almost certain that Draco would find a similar doll in Abdel's place, and that there was the same in Edis' bed, but they had to be sure. Therefore was only one way: somehow she had to check on Edis in the Ravenclaw tower. Since Luna hadn't responded to the summons, she conjectured that Edis must have used a sleeping spell on them, too, even if Hermione didn't know why. After all, Luna slept in a completely different part of the Ravenclaw tower than he, but perhaps he was simply more careful than Neriman. There was something she had to do: check on her Ravenclaw friend, too – and possibly to get more information about Edis.

Leaving the Gryffindor-dormitory and bidding the Fat Lady 'goodnight', Hermione walked towards the part of the castle where the Ravenclaw tower was located. Harry had told her and the others where the tower was, have visited there shortly before the Battle of Hogwarts started. She knew that the Ravenclaws didn't have a password, but that they had to answer a riddle or question. Well, she wasn't called 'the brightest witch of her age' for nothing. She could answer a riddle ... she hoped.

Climbing the staircase, she finally reached the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room. It wasn't a portrait that guarded the ancient polished wood door. No door handle, no key hole was visible and Hermione smiled. Harry explained in detail what the entrance looked like, and she was certain that she found the right door, especially after she recognized the brazen eagle's head that was the only decoration of the door. Reaching out, Hermione knocked once. Promptly the mouth of the bird of prey opened. The voice was pleasant as it presented a riddle: "A curtain woven of wind and scent, but melts away when wind through it went."

Hermione gaped at door, blinking, bemused. A curtain made of wind that vanished when wind goes through it …

One moment! She read about something like this when she studied a book about dragons. In earlier times, people believed that dragons gave them riddles to solve, and only after they had done so were the dragons ready to help him or listen to him. A legend indeed, considering the quick hot temper of those beasts, but one of the so-called 'dragon riddles' was similar to the one the eagle had just quoted. "Fog!" she replied, and with a low chuckle, the eagle head retreated and the door swung open.

Sighing in relief, Hermione stepped in, hoping that Edis hadn't returned yet. She would not be able to explain her presence here if she were caught. Even her status as Head-Girl wouldn't excuse her intrusion another house's dormitory. Her heart in her throat, she walked into the common room and gasped. The room was circular, and breathtaking. Blue and gold banners made of silk hung at the walls, enormous round-arched windows would provide an exquisite view of the surrounding landscape in sunlight or moonlight. The ceiling was vaulted and echoed the cloudless skies at midnight. Stars twinkled down on the Gryffindor-Queen.

Eyes darting about, Hermione looked for an indication as to where the bedrooms would be, and found a staircase near a white statue of the founder of this house, Rowena Ravenclaw, a beautiful but powerful witch, who valued knowledge and a sense of humour more than anything else. Feeling a bit awkward, Hermione tiptoed to the statue and crept up the stairs, which parted left and right, to boys' and girls' dormitories.

She chose to go right. After all, the Gryffindor girls' area was on the right, too. As she reached the first door, it swung open effortlessly, and she realized she was indeed in the girls' dormitory. At the fifth door, she finally discovered Luna. Near the window with its open curtains, the silver-blond hair of Luna Lovegood shimmered in the moon light. Taking a deep breath, Granger closed the distance to her friend, performed the silencing charm again, and tried to wake the Ravenclaw-witch, but she was in the same condition as Ginny and the others. Luna didn't wake up, and even as Hermione rolled her over, the Prefect didn't stir, unconscious. A closer look at the other girls revealed that they, too, were under the same spell.

Swearing under her breath, Hermione left the girls' area and headed for the boys', determined to discover if Edis used the same trick as Neriman. A quick glance at her watch told her that she should have met with Harry and Draco minutes ago, and sighing, she hastily sent a message via the coin to her best friend to tell him that she would soon be there. Not waiting for an answer, she shadowed from one room to the other, her heart thumping in her chest every time she opened another door. If one of the boys awoke – but her curiosity and her stubbornness were stronger.

At last she found the room where Edis had to live. Beside a bed was a chair with a caftan on it. She moved to approach the bed, when the Coin on her necklace warmed. Biting her tongue, she lifted it and read Harry's response that wasn't a response at all, but a warning: _**'Careful, they're coming!'**_

Hermione swallowed. How much time did she have until Edis reached the Ravenclaw-tower, coming from the east wing of the castle? Ten minutes? Perhaps he was quicker. It was a risk she was willing to take. Wiping sweat from her forehead, she tiptoed to the bed and looked down on the comforter that seemed to envelope a long, lean body. Lifting her wand, she pulled the comforter aside and saw the same as was on Neriman's bed. A small doll replaced the young wizard, but a male doll this time, also covered in strange symbols.

Hermione bit her lower lip again. She suspected that those dolls were a part of some ancient magic that was unknown this land, but not in Egypt. She also knew that those symbols must had a meaning, but without some research she wouldn't find any answers to her rising questions. Glancing around she realized that the other young wizards were sound asleep, as were their female House-mates and it occurred to her that Edis must have used a sleeping spell on all of the tower; not risking that any one of them would wake up and find him missing.

This could give her an advantage. Hermione crept to one of the school bags, took an empty parchment, quill and inkwell, took them back to Edis' bed, and started to copy down the symbols as they appeared on the doll. She had to hurry, she knew, but she also knew that this was an important clue.

Hastily she scribbled down the symbols and placed the quill and the inkwell back into Hamilton's school bag. She rose again, spreading the comforter back over Edis' bed and tiptoed to the door. An odd sensation shot through her – a heaviness in her stomach, accompanied by something in her mind like an outcry, but it vanished before she could grasp it. For a moment her knees were weak, and fear flowed cold in her veins. Then everything was back to normal – as normal as it could be when you're as out of place as she was.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Hermione slipped out of the room and hastened down the stairs, very grateful that they were constructed of stone and not of wood, which might have given her away with every step she made. Reaching the common room, she was moving toward the entrance as she heard the silky voice of the eagle head, which only could mean one thing: Edis was at the entrance!

For a moment panic flew over her, then her rational mind took over once more. The common room was furnished with sofas, armchairs, tables and bookshelves, which offered abundant places to hide. Choosing the space between a high bookshelf and a sofa, she rushed towards it and pressed herself into the shadows, cast an illusion charm over herself, and waited with racing heart as the entrance opened.

Hermione had seen far more in her short lifetime than many other wizards and witches whose years were multiples of her own. She had fought and survived a cruel war, had battled where a young girl shouldn't have to, and she seen things which still haunted her, but also made her stronger. But this time she had to press a fist against her mouth to hold back a cry of shock and fear. Her gaze fell upon the shape that arrived in the round room – the shape of a being that belonged in the realms of fantasy and a long-ago culture. There, in the frame of the door, stood Anubis…

TBC…

_Yeah, another cliff-hanger. I know, I am soooo mean. And I can tell you that in the next chapter all three of our friends will meet those so-called gods – and one of our heroes will have 'hard' encounter with them…_

_I do hope you liked this chapter, including how Draco is becoming more and more a part of Harry's little group._

_Please, please leave some reviews._

_Have a nice weekend,_

_Love you all,_

_Your Lywhn_


	30. Close Encounters

_My dear Readers,_

_Thanks again for the lot of reviews. I'm certain you're all dying to read the new part and therefore: Have fun._

_Love you all,_

_Lywhn! _

**Chapter 29 – Close Encounters**

Hermione pressed herself deeper into the shadows, her heart and mind racing. She forced herself to take deep silent breaths to calm her thudding heart, to prevent a very possible faint.

The silhouette that stepped into the Ravenclaw common room was that of a large, well-formed man, walking with a foreign grace, a royal posture. Skin, black as a moonless night, covered muscular arms and legs and a flat belly. The figure was clothed only in a white loincloth. But this did not cause her shock, nor was it the fact that his fingers ended in paws. No, it was what was settled on his strong neck, crowned by the white cotton of some sort of headgear similar to the pharaohs' – like Tutankhamun. The neck supported a head that was not human. A long snout, open now in a pant, revealed sharp snow-white fangs; short black fur covered the skull, with long pointed ears. Golden eyes scanned the area with cold indifference. An aura of the ages enveloped the creature, while a peaceful darkness seemed to emanate in waves around it.

Hermione didn't doubt who it was for one moment. There, before her, in the same room, stood Anubis, the Egyptian god of death!

Now holding her breath, she watched him. Her mind was screaming at her that this wasn't possible, that it was some kind of trick, possibly a bizarre form of Animagus, but her sensitive soul told her a completely different story. Whatever this creature was, it wasn't human. And it was old, very, very old. Those golden eyes held centuries belonging to a time long before Hogwarts had been conceived.

Hermione hugged her knees tightly to keep from trembling as Anubis made two steps deeper into the room, his nose busily sniffing. Granger bit her lips. If this creature had only the half of sharp senses as a real jackal – especially the senses of hearing and smell – ! It _had_ to be able to smell her fear, hear her thundering heartbeat! And as it turned its head her direction, she closed her eyes, fervently praying that it didn't find her.

For a long moment there was no sound. Even the snuffling had stopped. She was sure she could feel those hellish eyes on her ...

Then something tapped against the window from outside and the Anubis-creature spun around, a low growl rumbling in its chest. Hermione knew that sound: an owl. Pressing her sweating chin against her paralysed knees, she watched the creature approach the window where the owl sat, but it fled with a shrill hoot the moment the window was opened. With a low growl, 'Anubis' turned toward the stair, grumbling in a language that hadn't been heard by mortals for more than three thousand years.

Hermione watched the tall shape vanishing into the darkness of the staircase and just before it was out of sight, she thought she could see its skull shrinking as its figure did. It was transforming back into the quiet, pleasant Egyptian student, with whom she'd ridden in the same coach.

For long moments, she breathed deeply, waiting for her heart to approach a normal pace, then she crept towards the entrance, fearing that at any moment Edis – or whatever it was – would return and catch her, but she made it out of the room unhindered. The brazen eagle-head on the door toward her and commented, "What do you want, dearie? In or out, make up your mind."

Hermione's nerves were on edge, but still her logic was in place – maybe the only reason she now clung to something familiar: research. "Excuse me … did you see the ... the person who came in only minutes ago?"

One sharp bird eyes opened, turning toward her. "What person?" the musical voice queried.

Gulping, Hermione whispered: "A tall one, a black being wearing a loincloth and with the head of a jackal."

For a long moment, the bronze eagle knocker kept silent, then it spoke again: "If this is a kind of joke, young woman, I don't find it amusing."

Hermione stared at it. "B- ... but… I heard you talking to him, just before the door opened for him."

If a bronze eagle could snort in annoyance, this one did, then snapped: "If you assume I have spoken with someone with the appearance of Anubis and then opened the door for him, then I you have a remarkable imagination." It narrowed its eyes. "By the way, I have never seen you here before. Are you a new student or do you not belong to my House?" The last sentence was filled with threat.

Hermione's eyes widened. _Oops_… "I'm the Head-Girl and have patrol duties tonight," she said firmly, turning on her heel and shutting up the inquisitive knocker, as it changed back its motionless self.

Wiping her sweaty hands on her jeans, Hermione trotted down the steep spiral stairs, her mind whirling, when the coin warmed up again. _'You o.k.?'_ was the message. Hermione pointed her wand at the coin, sending back: _'I'm coming'_, which was obvious anyway, if Harry was watching the _Marauder's Map_. Speeding up, she hastened through the silent castle, her thoughts in turmoil, and a nagging feeling that this night wasn't over yet.

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Harry passed through the sleeping castle after he parted from Hermione. The light from his wandtip woke several portraits for a second – who snapped at him, even though it was the only thing they could see – and headed toward the east wing. His eyes continually scanned the _Marauder's Map_, while he made sure that the invisibility cloak was covering him entirely. He was nervous, not only because of the reason he was running through abandoned hallways, but he was also nervous for Hermione and, just a bit, for Malfoy. Whatever it was they were dealing with here might be deadly, and he feared for the girl who was like a sister to him. He hadn't seen any other option than to involve her after he couldn't reach Ginny.

Hermione was the brightest but also bravest young witch he'd ever met, and he was certain that she could handle most situations. The same went for Malfoy, he reluctantly admitted to himself. The Slytherin might be a git and arrogant pillock with an ego large enough to park trains in, but he was skilled in most kinds of magic and could face unpredictable events with aplomb and originality, as he had proven many times over the last weeks.

It still seemed a miracle to Harry that Draco Malfoy – of all people – suddenly opened up like he did, and why he now protected Hermione with such a fierce determination. But he was alright with this as long as the Head-Boy had no evil ulterior motives. But the boy-who-lived didn't think that Malfoy's behaviour over the last weeks was a performance. He knew how someone looked, when haunted by ghosts of the past – the same as he himself had looked after the war. And Draco Malfoy was a living example of how someone with a guilty conscience behaved, wanting to wipe it clean. So, as long as the Slytherin was ready to help, Harry would let him alone. But if he was just using this opportunity as a twisted method of getting to Hermione, Harry would personally make sure that he was being expelled from Hogwarts.

Nearing his destination, Harry slowed, checked the map one last time and directed his attention firmly away from Malfoy to the matter at hand. Dousing his wand with a non-verbal spell, he needed a moment for his eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness around him, lit by the light of the moon outside that fell through the windows. Taking a deep breath, he moved silently down the hallway, his senses reaching out for any noise, stirring, or disturbance, but everything was silent. Too silent! It was unnerving, but it was a warning. Something wasn't right here.

He rounded a corner and stopped – there were three silhouettes about twenty paces away. They stood motionless as statues, half hidden in the shadows, but there was no mistake what or who they were. Harry examined smallest of the three: female, an ancient white dress of silk clinging to soft curves, cut up the sides to reveal long legs, arms uncovered. Her skin was black and shimmered in the moonlight, golden sandals on her feet. She wore a head cloth he knew from their research. She had a short snout, round ears and the facial features of a cat. Her large green eyes looked straight ahead. Harry knew her instantly: Bastet, the goddess of cats, goddess of love, family, joy and dance.

Beside her stood a tall male figure, clad in a loincloth, with olive brown skin, very slender but muscular. His body was human, except for the head. Harry watched a forked tongue sneaking out of the scaled lips, tasting the air, while black eyes shone like hard beads in a face that was covered in elegant scales. Potter had seen Voldemort several times, and he had always thought that the demented wizard looked like a snake, nose reduced to slits, his bare pate and his red eyes, but only now he realized how wrong he'd been. Voldemort's face had been deformed, but the creature before him really had the head of a snake – of a cobra, to be precise.

The third figure presented a powerful black body and strong neck that ended in the head of a jackal with long pointy ears. It was recognizable to all of them: Anubis.

All three stood perfectly still and seemed to be in a kind of trance, but just this moment he didn't care. He was determined to understand what his eyes were showing him, that he wasn't being fooled by some trick. Their guests could have used some kind of transforming potion, or were simply extremely skilled Animagis, but he doubted it. The air buzzed with a kind of power which were new to him in Hogwarts, and the breath of eternity blew softly along the walls. Whatever they were, they weren't human. They were so foreign to his experience that he couldn't really grasp them. A part of him wanted to turn and to flee, another part – the part that had gotten him into trouble most of his life – wanted to stay and to learn more. Those three, if they were ancient Egyptian gods or not, were here for a purpose. And he wanted to know what the purpose was.

Moving to the next window, he took his map out again and peered down at it under the starlight. And there before him he saw the three names he had expected to see: Neriman Sahid, Edis Shawky and Abdel Fathalla. But here in the moonlight, there again seemed to be the shadows of other letters beneath the names. Harry blinked several times, but the shadow letters remained, and with some difficulty he was able to make them out: Obest, Uraneus and Inpu.

The map fell against him as he looked at the three shapes, gaping. What did this mean? Why were their House-names as shadows under their names? Were they somehow connected to the gods and … And why were they here like this at this moon phase? They always had acted at full moon, but never with the 'sun of the night' gone. Well, there was Halloween afternoon, when Bastet and Anubis in their animal form came to their rescue in Hogsmeade and later, at night, they went to Abdel to heal him, but he and his friends had been wrong, thinking these beings only acted during full moon. The proof was before him.

He flinched and held his breath as the snake-god moved forwards suddenly, hissing something. Harry heard words, harsh and angry, but he couldn't understand them. They were, once again, in an unknown tongue. Bastet reached out, placing a slender hand on his arm, her nails like razor sharp claws, while she purred something that obviously reassured him. Anubis growled slightly and cocked his head, his ears twitching, doglike. Gulping, Harry watched them exchange words, then, all of sudden, Bastet whirled around and ran straight at him.

Harry dropped to a crouch, his hand tightened on the wand, making ready to defend himself if she tore away his invisibility cloak, but she passed him an arm's length away without looking his direction. She ran soundlessly, a cat on long legs. Anubis made a sound almost like a bark and followed her, the hissing snake-man third.

Forcing himself to breathe again, Harry followed at a safe distance, checking the map over and over again to be sure of the direction they were taking. Suddenly, he was aware that another name appeared at the entrance of Hogwarts, crossed the courtyard and slipped into the castle: Layla Moawad. Where she had come from he couldn't know, but he was fairly certain that Anubis, Bastet and the snake-man had been waiting for her, and were now hurrying to meet her.

Another look at the map showed him that Hermione had left the Gryffindor-tower and was heading into another direction, what filled him with relief. If she had come to the main staircase, she would have run into the three 'gods'. A glance to the dungeons showed that Malfoy was still in the Slytherin-dormitory. Good. But he didn't know what he should do if either of the two should encounter the creatures.

Together they moved through the castle, the three beings that shouldn't exist, and their invisible observer. The three only waved a hand or two whenever a portrait stirred or wake, and instantly the animated images fell back into a deep slumber, with no memory of the event, Harry suspected. Suddenly he felt his messaging coin warming up and putting it close to his glasses, he read _'In R.-tower, ck'ing, out soon'_. He grimaced. _Typical of Hermione! -_ when she wanted to learn something, she sought it out, no matter what.

Not taking the time to reply, he followed the three creatures as closely as he dared, hoping that Hermione would be done in the Ravenclaw-tower before Edis decided to slip back into his human form and return.

He slowed as he neared the stairwell, seeing Bastet and Anubis standing at the balustrade, peering down into the void, the snake-man nowhere to be seen. Breathing slowly, mouth and throat open wide to avoid any sound, to help remain calm, Harry waited, watching, until Bastet purred something and her jackal-companion growled in agreement. They walked away, their posture indicating to Harry that they were both irritated. And after Potter followed their progress on the _Marauder's Map,_ he realized they were going back to their dormitories. Quickly he sent Hermione a message, warning her of Edis' soon return, while he watched the name of his friend sliding into another bedroom at the Ravenclaw-tower, remaining there for what seemed to be an awfully long time. He urged her under his breath, as he saw the name of Edis coming closer to the dormitory. '_What is Hermione DOING up there? What is taking so long?'_

Glancing quickly at the names in the dungeons, Harry realized that Malfoy had come out of the Slytherin-area and gone toward the Hufflepuff's, but waited now in a corner, while Abdel and Layla approached. _'He was always good in skulking, hopefully he still is!'_ he thought, directing his attention back to Hermione. The same moment she left the bedroom with Edis' name, the name of Abdel closed in on the Slytherin-Prince – unnoticed by Harry. And even if the boy-who-lived had seen, he would not have been able to do anything in time ...

His eyes widened in alarm when he saw that Edis halted inside Ravenclaw's common room, inches away from Hermione ... then finally moved to the staircase. And he had to wait two minutes more until the Head-Girl fled the common room and left the Ravenclaw-dormitory. Gulping, Harry asked her if she were all right, and her answer was to the point: _'I'm coming'_. Yes, he knew! He was the one with the map!

He sighed, seeing that Neriman was already back in the Gryffindor-tower, then looked again for Malfoy, whose name hadn't moved from the hallway corner between the Slytherin and Hufflepuff area. Layla was back in her dormitory, and Abdel was on his way. _'Come out of your hideout, Malfoy, the danger is over!'_ he thought impatiently, watching the name a moment longer, rolling his eyes when he saw the location didn't change. _'Still a coward!'_ he snorted and waited for Hermione to turn up.

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Draco had finally made it to the side room of the Entrance-Hall, to the shortcut leading down to the dungeons. It was well hidden and guarded by the founder of his House: a portrait of Salazar Slytherin. The old wizard looked coldly down on this student, his small grey eyes held a glint of cleverness, arrogance and bitterness. His long thin beard fell down onto his folded hands, his calvous skull was framed with a short ring of grey white hair, and his dark robes blended into the background of the portrait. Rumour had it that the portrait hadn't spoken to anyone since the founder left Hogwarts in conflict with the others almost a thousand years ago. The same was said about his portrait in the Headmaster's Office. Only Purebloods, who belonged to Slytherin-House, were allowed to use this secret passage, and Draco had been in it many times – like his father and his grandfather before him.

He looked up at the mute portrait and returned the hard stare of Slytherin, not pausing. "Mortal Dread!" Draco said slowly, and the nose of the old wizard twitched, before the door swung open. Shaking his head, Malfoy stepped into the dark passage, lighting his wand. "Courtesy was never a strong point for him," he mumbled, and descended the small passage, shortly reaching the antechamber of his house's common room – saving about ten minutes.

Silence greeted him. It was a cold, dead silence. With this intuition, he stole toward the bedrooms.

Ten minutes later, he left the Slytherin-dormitory, first making certain that no one was out in the hallway or lingering in the dark. His mind was in turmoil after discovering several things: first, no one would wake up, even though he tried to shake Graham out of his sleep. Second, Abdel's bed was empty except for a small doll, decorated with strange symbols. And third, the portraits in their dormitory didn't stir, even when he spoke to them. It seemed Potter was right. There was something going on here, and he didn't like it, either. And he, too, was determined to find out what exactly their guests were playing at.

He looked at his watch and realized that he should have met with Wonder Boy and Hermi—_Granger_! – five minutes ago, and shrugged. He was a wizard, not a god who could stop time. And he'd needed some extra time – no reason to freak. (He hoped his Head-partner saw it the same way. He so didn't want another lecture as soon as they were back in their own area.) His little Gryffindor could be almost scary when she was angry …

_His_ little Gryffindor?

He sighed and shook his head. Who was he trying to fool? She was deep beneath his skin and was heading toward his heart, and she didn't even know it. And he was determined to make her his, even if it did get him into trouble. So, yes, he _would_ refer to her as 'his little Gryffindor', but just to himself. He wasn't the same as a year ago, he knew that much. He'd changed, yes, even willing to explore the softer feelings, but to say that he had turned about 180 degrees was inaccurate. He was, after all, a Slytherin. And he was helping Potter now only because it was in his own interests. The same went for that little three-cheese-high from Hufflepuff he'd saved from Harper, and…

One moment!

Hufflepuff!

Could he find the way into the Hufflepuff-dormitory? He knew that the entrance was near the kitchens, but was also reachable through the dungeons. Ignoring the tiny voice reminding him of his overdue meeting with Potter and Hermione, he moved toward the area where he was sure the Hufflepuffs were. He knew the dungeons inside out, and quickly found the way that led under the castle towards the kitchens.

He was approaching the entrance to the fourth House dormitory when he felt it – a sudden chill in the air, as if someone had opened a window during an icy winter night. He hesitated, looked around him, but there was nothing. No footfalls, no noise, no figure that stepped out from the shadows. Lifting a brow, he took a deep breath and rounded the next corner, where the main staircase led from the Entrance Hall down to the dungeons. And then he saw it.

A white fog was tumbling silently down the stairs, running smoothly over them like a waterfall. It remained near to the floor as soon as it reached the lowest level. Hastily Draco doused his wand and pressed himself against the next wall, observing the mist with a mixture of fascination and wariness. No fog he'd ever heard of moved on its own accord, as this was doing. One corner of it raised up, as if a person would go on tip toes to get a better view, then it lowered and slipped over the floor towards the Hufflepuff-dormitory, leaving a dense chill and a feeling of deep dread behind.

Malfoy gulped. Whatever this … this _thing_ was, it wasn't good. He thought he could feel the breath of evil, like the stare of Voldemort last year, but of a different sort. Where the Dark Lord always seemed eager and impatient, this sensation was calm in its foreign strength. For a moment, Draco thought he could see a portion of time itself, as if the fourth dimension had taken shape, then it was only fog again.

A fog that should not be here.

Grasping his wand tightly, Draco crept forward, following the mysterious fog. He had no light with him now, and the dungeons had no windows, no lanterns, but the mist shimmered with a faint glow of its own, plenty of light in this very dark place. He moved soundlessly down the hallway and around two corners, but stopped again when he saw that the mist had halted. Hastily, he pressed himself again against the wall and waited, until it flowed again – into the direction Draco had wanted to go: toward the Hufflepuff-dormitory. Interesting! He was about to follow the fog again when he thought he heard something behind him. He halted again and listened. There was it again: a harsh quick breathing, accompanied by a rasping, and it was coming nearer.

Draco swallowed the bitter taste of rising fear and forced himself to remain calm. It wouldn't help if he panicked now. Whatever was approaching from behind, he had to face it, if he didn't want to run straight through that fog, which seemed the less desirable of the two options.

And then he felt the presence of someone – or something – behind him; powerful, wild and old. Very old! If this fog that melted in the darkness before him was 'time,' then this new presence was the beginning and end of everything. He was enveloped in the sensation where he understood that his own life, his own existence, was nothing more than a small pebble in the river of eternity. It frightened him more than the Dark Lord had. Voldemort's presence had been overpowering, but Voldemort was a child compared to the being in this hallway. And Draco, who would have loved to run away as he had done it so many times before, found himself unable to do so. And even stronger than the desire to flee was the intense desire to discover what or who was behind him.

This was the first time his curiosity got the better of his terror.

Against the inclination screaming that this was the most idiotic thing he'd ever attempted, he slowly turned around, whispering, "_Lumos_."

The soft light of his wand reflected on the gold and silver scales covering the long, slender body that towered over him. His eyes were irresistibly drawn upward, up and up, past the glittering intricate pattern of scales, he raised his eyes and looked up at an enormous snake that had to be three or more times larger than Nagini, the front quarter of its body lifted into the air, towering over him by good two or three metres, nearly touching the ceiling. His reluctant gaze drifted to the expanded neck of a cobra, the biggest one anyone ever saw. The eyes were black pearls, glaring down on him, while the forked tongue darted out, accompanied by a loud hiss.

Draco didn't dare to move a muscle. Actually _couldn't_ move a muscle. The animal was too near to make a run for it, and as he perceived that the slotted nostrils were taking in his scent, lowering toward him, he bit his lips from prevent himself from crying out. He wished he knew Parselmouth. He wished he knew more about snakes than just his simple common knowledge. All he ever learned about serpents told him that he would be dead if he moved abruptly. Snakes were provoked by quick movements, and he prayed that the beast would remain calm if he didn't provoke it to more anger than it already seemed to be showing.

Suddenly, the giant head was before his face, and the forked tongue darted out, touching his cheek. Draco instinctively leapt backward, his breath catching in his throat as he saw long deadly fangs bared. The snake hissed and leaned back, clearly readying a strike, and Draco's thoughts collapsed. Whirling around, he fled – or tried to flee, but after only a few steps, he felt the breath of the serpent at his neck.

He threw himself aside, fell, and rolled, trying to regain his feet before the monster was upon him, but even with his Quidditch reflexes he was too slow. Fear raced through him as he saw the giant snake positioning itself in front of him, the smooth scales of its body brushing against him. In despair, he tried to stun it, and it ducked the spell with an easy twist of its muscular body. Draco did something he had never thought to be capable of: "_Avada Kedavra_!"

The green light shot out – and was absorbed by a dragon flame that suddenly burst out of the giant mouth of his attacker. Instead of falling dead, the snake only hissed and Malfoy's consciousness was lost as his mind reached out blindly to anyone who could hear him. He saw the enormous tail coming towards him and the last thing he thought of was the lovely face of his little lioness, then he was hurled against the wall. Darkness had overtaken him even before his body hit the floor…

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry remained at the spot where no portrait could see him, but he could view the staircase – and he'd been there for the last five minutes. He checked the _Maurauder's Map _again, saw that Hermione was approaching but that Malfoy hadn't moved. Not without some sarcasm, he asked himself if the Slytherin had fallen asleep in his hideout. A minute later Hermione, came the stairs down. She was a mess – not in her outer appearance, but inwardly. Her eyes were large and haunted, her face as pale as snow, her hand that held her wand trembled and she kept looking behind her, as if she feared being followed.

"Mione!" Harry whispered and pulled the cloak aside.

The relief on her face was palpable. "Harry!" She rushed towards him and threw her arms around him, trembling. She embraced him as if she wanted to break his ribs, but he didn't mind, and wrapped his arms protectively around her. "Sh-sh, it's all right, Mione. They're gone."

She looked up at him, fear in her oversized eyes. "Harry, I … I saw him. He was there, only inches away from me. I swear, it wasn't an illusion! He was there, Harry! _Anubis_!"

Potter nodded slowly. "I know, I saw him and the others, too." As she gaped at him, he continued: "There was Bastet and a snake-man, and by their names on the _Marauder's Map_ were other names: Obis, Inpu and Uraneus."

Hermione finally released her friend, and took a step back, pushing her hands into the pockets of her jeans; her wand still firmly stuck between two fingers, poking out the pocket. She was still shaken, but she now engaged her logic once again, being with a friend. "There's more, Harry. They put dolls in their beds that kept the illusions of their bodies beneath the covers. And the others are under some sort of sleeping spell. Ginny is just asleep, so don't worry, but no one I shook would wake up. And about Anubis: Harry, I don't think it's an illusion, or a trick. I _felt_ him. There was that same feeling of eternity and darkness I felt when the jackal came to Draco's and my rescue in Hogsmeade, and …" She stopped and looked around her. "Where's he?" she asked.

"Who?" Harry, who was still processing her information, didn't recognize the unexpected first name.

"Malfoy, silly. He should have been here ten minutes ago," Hermione replied, worry edging in her voice.

Harry shook his head. "Your _hero_ seemed to have fallen asleep after he found a corner to hide in when Abdel and Layla were going back down to the dungeons." He pointed to that section on the map. "He hasn't moved since. Oh, but about Layla, this was strange. She was suddenly there, at the main gate of the castle, but no one could apparate here, so how was it that I didn't see her name before, but only -"

"Harry, something isn't right!" Hermione interrupted.

"You can say that again," he began.

She shook her head impatiently, then pointed to Malfoy's name on the map. "Draco! Something isn't right. He would be here by now if he was alright!"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe he just wants to stay in his little hidey hole after Abdel and Layla got so close to him. He doesn't know where they could be now. And we both know he's not the type to take risks-"

Hermione stopped him with a look, an odd feeling shouting at her intuition. "No, Harry, that can't be true. Something happened to him. I know it. He's in trouble! You should remember, he's not a coward anymore. Think about the events in Hogsmeade!" She swallowed hard, suddenly remembering the odd feeling she'd gotten as she was about to leave the Edis/Anubis' bedroom. Something had tugged at her mind – like a cry for help. She bit her lip as she put two and two together; finally coming to the conclusion what that strange sensation in her soul had to be. She'd felt that pressure in her head twice before, when Draco invaded her mind, but now she realized that it was the same feeling, only weaker. He had called to her for help, and she hadn't heard him!

Harry stared at her. "How can you be so sure that he's in trouble?" he asked. "He hasn't moved for-"

"Don't ask, I just know!" she interrupted him shortly and turned to run toward the dungeons. She had neither the time nor the mood to tell Harry about Malfoy using _Legilimens_ on her, which was illegal, already knowing how her friend would react. And she didn't need an angry Harry right now. So she simply beckoned in a shushed voice: "C'mon, hurry up!"

Harry watched her darting away and gave up, sprinting after her to close the distance between them. "I don't believe this!" he grumbled, not bothering to pull the cloak over him again, ignoring the protests from some of the portraits, which seemed to wake up from a sleep deep as that of 'Sleeping Beauty'.

Hermione knew that something wasn't right with the Head-Boy. Reaching the Entrance-Hall and heading toward the dungeons, the bad feeling in her belly turned into knowledge. Draco was in trouble, she _knew _it. If he was hurt- He'd asked her for help, she hadn't heard …

She leapt down the final stairs and stopped there, turning to the left and back to the right, as she reached the lowest level of the castle. "Which way, Harry?" she nearly shouted at him, gasping for breath, ice starting in her veins. It was fear – a fear she had only experienced before when Harry, Ron or one of her friends was facing danger. And this time it was worse, because this time she _knew_ that something bad had already happened, and that she only could try to prevent it from worsening

Harry, out of breath as she was, looked down on his map. "Right, and then left at the next hallway and left again. He still hasn't moved, so… Mione, WAIT!"

She was running, not listening, her wand emitting sparks alongside the light she used to find her way. It was cold here, _unusually_ cold and damp. It crept through her sweater and merged with the ice water that already was coursing through her. Draco needed her, he was the one in danger this time! The same invisible strings, which had pulled at her as his uncle attacked from behind, were now dragging her forward with no thought for her own safety.

She ran around the two corners, Harry right behind her, panting, "Not far, we should see him- "

He stopped and caught Hermione before she could fall after crashing into her, for she had stopped suddenly. Lifting his wand, he illuminated the closed area beyond them and his breath caught, seeing the motionless black-clad figure on the stone floor.

Hermione gasped in shock when she saw her Head-partner, her fists to her mouth. Like a doll carelessly cast aside, he was sprawled on his back, his wand beside him, eyes closed, his face even more pale than usual. But Hermione had cried out because of the small pool of blood under his head.

A moment later, she was beside him, gingerly touching his cheek. She carefully rolled his head toward her, whispering his name. She was afraid he was dead, and pain stabbed her heart and soul – far more intense than she had ever thought. She quickly found the wound that was bleeding, there, at his left temple. It wasn't large or deep, but head injuries tend to bleed heavily.

Harry crouched down beside them, reached for Malfoy's wrist, and sought his pulse. It was strong and steady. He also saw Malfoy breathing normally, and laid one hand on Hermione's arm, who was fighting not to cry. "He is only knocked-out, take it easy, Mione!" he said softly, astonished by the worry and fear her face was betraying. "I guess I was wrong."

Seeing the steady movement of Draco's chest, panic subsided in the Head-Girl, replaced with a relief that washed over her like a warm wave. He was alive! He was only unconscious. With trembling fingers, Hermione carefully lifted the Slytherin's head and cradled it in her lap, ignoring the blood. She took her wand out, pointed it at his wound and murmured a healing spell she learned last year; praying that it would work properly. Slowly the injury closed, the bleeding stopped, and she heard Draco groaning, but she didn't pause, but held her wand firmly in place. Her only desire was to see those grey eyes open to look at her.

Harry watched her, then he rose and lifted his wand. "_Lumos_!" Warily he looked about for any sign that could tell him what happened to the other wizard. He found a dark spot on the wall and, touching it, he discovered it was blood – and the spot was almost a metre above his own head. "Someone or something must have hurled him against the wall," he whispered. "He's lucky he is still alive."

A moan behind him made him turn, and he observed how Hermione ever so gently smoothed back Malfoy's hair, while her other hand rested on his chest, as if reassuring him, even in his unconscious state, and whispered soothing words. Again Draco groaned and his eyelids started to flutter, and he stirred.

"So, he's coming around," Potter mumbled, and knelt down beside the other young man again, observing him closely; still surprised by Hermione's reaction and actions. _What was going on here – not only with this obvious display of violence against the Head-Boy, but also between the two senior-students?_ Hermione always cared for other people, but her behaviour seemed quite strange to him.

Again the Slytherin moaned and Harry bent closer, looking for any sign that the other wizard needed more help than they could give him.

_X X X_

The first thing Draco was aware of was that he was lying on something cold and hard. The second thing was that he had trouble moving, and that he would need all his strength just to open his eyes. And the third thing was … was the most beautiful face he'd ever seen.

Through half-opened eyes, he peeked through his lashes up to the angelic features he could see only in a daze, but he took in the wide brown eyes, which looked upon him with so much concern, he suddenly felt like a little boy again, safe and comforted in his mother's lap. Then he felt it on his chest – a hand, shielding and protecting his heart – and the warm, sweet breath on his face, a voice asking something he couldn't, but didn't need to, understand. He was perfectly content in this state: gathered in these arms, the goddess watching over him.

And then the pain began. From one moment to the next it spread from his left temple through his whole body, and made him gasp. Awareness was returning he was lying in a dark, cold place on a stone floor, the pale light from a wand was the only thing that disturbed the darkness, and there were green eyes behind the spectacles which came into view, _'Saint Potter.'_

Damn! And it had started as such a _nice_ dream!

"Draco, can you hear me? Are you okay?"

He knew this urgent voice. It had spoken to him only moments ago and … and it belonged to Hermione – the girl he was somehow bound to, the girl he had saved twice, the girl that risked her life to save him, the girl he … he _kissed_. Once. Memorably. And all he wanted to do was to pull her face down to him right here and now to repeat the act. His eyes were clearing, and he saw the deep worry in hers, and felt her hand gliding through his hair, and wished with all his heart that she would just keep doing what she was doing. This felt so different from the same gesture by Pansy – more comforting, less demanding. BUT Potter was also kneeling beside them. And the concern he could see in the expression of the 'war hero' was unnerving.

"What do you think?" he croaked. "When you're smashed against a wall, you truly feel like shit!"

Harry sat back on his heels, and grinned. "No worries, Mione, he's already back to his charming self."

Hermione frowned at her best friend, then bent over her Head-partner. "Do you hurt anywhere else? Can you move your legs and arms?"

His reply darted unbidden through his consciousness. '_I would love to prove you just how good my arms and legs still work! But we have a spectator ...'_ He carefully lifted one after another his arms and legs, and grimaced. "All bones still whole and where they belong." He _so_ did NOT want Potter's help, but the other wizard would have none of it, and lifted him into a sitting position. Promptly he went dizzy and closed his eyes with another moan, responding to the throbbing in his temple and sudden nausea.

Harry watched him turning green, and asked awkwardly: "You all right?"

"Never been better!" Sarcasm was layered in Malfoy's voice. He took several deep breaths and finally opened his eyes again, the dizziness and nausea fading. "Remind me never to agree to help you again in the middle of the night!" he groaned and held his head that felt twice the size.

"What happened?" Hermione's soft voice drew him back to the present.

"Don't know exactly ... I came down here, and there was some strange fog, and … SHIT!" His eyes grew large. "Great gorbulous globs of _shit_! I love our emblem, but I _never_ want to get involved with that cobra ever again!"

Both Gryffindors exchanged a baffled look, and echoed: "Cobra?"

Draco nodded and regretted it a second later, as the angry little man inside his skull making his head ache suddenly became a dozen with spikes and sledgehammers. "I swear, it was almost as large as a dragon," he finally mumbled, holding his head with both hands, willing the hallway to stop spinning about him.

Harry frowned. "The map only showed Layla and then Abdel near you, but…" He pursed his lips. "I do think that-"

"Stop thinking, Potter. The last time you did I got hit by a snake large enough to fill our Potions-classroom." Collecting himself, Malfoy tried to rise, but failed completely. Swearing wordlessly beneath his breath, he accepted the help of other two, and it took all his will to start walking. Ignoring his protests, Harry pulled one of his arms around his shoulders and wrapped the other around his waist in support, while Hermione supported him on the other side, using her own, Draco's and Harry's wands to light their way. All three prayed that they wouldn't meet any teacher or – even worse – Filch on their way back. But the _Marauder's Map_ Hermione was holding showed there wasn't a single professor out just this moment, and Filch was with Mrs. Norris in his room. This was a relief. She really didn't want to have to use the story she'd already concocted to explain to anyone who asked why Malfoy appeared so ill-used, and Harry was outside the Gryffindor-dorm so late.

She looked up at Malfoy and gulped, seeing him limping, drying blood on his left temple. "You … you should visit the hospital-wing," she told him.

"No way I'm visiting Pomfrey tonight!" he responded. "How are we to explain what happened?"

"I can come up with a story, but Pomfrey should check you out. What if something's broken? She could fix it, and she could give you a pain killer." Worry was obvious in her voice.

For a moment she didn't know who looked more astonished: Harry or Malfoy. Damn, couldn't she show concern for her Head-partner after he was attacked?

The look on her face was a balm to Draco's soul. Without realizing it, he answered gently, "Rumours would start, Granger, and we don't know what our guests are prepared to do if they that we're spying on them. I'll clean up and lie down. I don't need anything else, but thank you." She wanted to protest. He lowered his head and asked, "Was it you who played nurse for me?" As she blushed, he gave her a small smile. "Nice job. Thanks. And I should be fine as soon as I lie down and get some sleep. It is night-time, yet isn't it?" She blushed even more, and kept walking.

Harry said nothing as witness to this small encounter, but he formed a few more questions about this new Draco Malfoy. Hermione's panic at finding him unconscious and injured, then Malfoy's gentle words toward her - Harry hadn't missed the possessive protection Malfoy showed whenever Hermione was in danger. Maybe Ron was right. Maybe the boy they'd all hated for seven years had found a soft spot for Hermione – and vice versa.

Harry signed, slowly working his way back up to the Head-Students' dormitory with the Slytherin-Prince hanging over his shoulder and the Gryffindor-Queen under the other side. He really didn't want to consider the consequences, should Ron ever learn of this.

TBC…

_So, my dear ones, I do hope that this was a chapter to your liking. And do believe me that there will be a sweet encounter within the next part._

_Please, please, leave some more reviews,_

_Love you all,_

_Yours Lywhn!_


	31. Allies

_Hallo, my dear readers,_

_I'm sorry that this next part wasn't published yesterday, but regarding the tragic that enfolds in Japan Cheetah and I had our heads elsewhere._

_Nevertheless I do hope you will enjoy this new chapter, in which an even takes place that will make a small 'history' and our two will realize a little bit more, how much they are driven to each other._

_Have fun, thank you for the last reviews,_ _Y_

_ours Lywhn_

**Chapter 30 – Allies**

Harry, Hermione and Draco made their way back to the Head students' dormitory in silence, reaching the door without any trouble. Harry helped a wincing Malfoy to his sofa and he sank into it. Hermione ran to the bathroom and returned a short time later with her comforter, a wet cloth and a glass of cold water, which Draco emptied without hesitation. He put the cold wet cloth on his temple, releasing a hiss of pain. The cut was closed, but he knew that his head would soon display all the colours his body was capable of. And still he felt weak and dizzy, possibly because of a concussion. Not caring about how he looked in front of Potter, or that he was wrapped in a rival house's colour, he lay back, pulled the comforter to his chin and listened with closed eyes to his Head-partner's tale.

Hermione told the others in a hushed voice what she found out and witnessed, as did Harry and – finally – the Slytherin, too. Still feeling drowsy, he remained lying on the sofa, under the warm burgundy red blanket, and described the same phenomena concerning his house mates and the portraits in their common-room, as well as the strange doll in Abdel's bed. And then, finally, he began to relate the description of the fog and the giant cobra. In earlier times, he might have gloated about the fact that he not only had two eager listeners – for years most members of his house practically hung on his every word – but that the two curious faces in front of him were those of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. And, at some point, he even found it easy to speak to 'Wonder-Boy', who had seen so much, and could understand much of what he was talking about. Potter might have been a thorn in his side, but he was intelligent, skilful, and experienced – things Draco respected.

As he finished, clearly exhausted, Harry frowned and pulled out his map, tapping it with his wand and murmuring under his breath. Draco could tell it was the spell that activated the map.

"I watched Layla appearing at the great gate of the castle," he started, explaining events from his perspective. "The map only shows details of the castle. She was suddenly there, and went down to the dungeons as soon as she was inside. Anubis, Bastet and Snakeman – to give them names – all rushed toward her, but only the Snakeman chased after her, while Anubis and Bastet vanished upstairs. At some point the double writing beneath Edis' and Neriman's names vanished, Edis' some time when he was in the Ravenclaw tower."

Hermione nodded. "He returned to his human form after he moved towards the steps leading to the boys' bedrooms."

"Sounds, as if they were changing back to human form, so that map wasn't bewildered about the identity anymore, Potter," Malfoy agreed, flipping the cloth about to the cool side, grimacing at the pain. And now he could feel the pain in his left shoulder, too.

"Assuming that they really can shape-shift like that, and somehow assumed the identity of the gods of their Houses, then it would mean that Abdel ... only knocked you out." The green eyes behind the spectacles observed the other, who snorted.

"Nice! And here I thought we are friends, or something along those lines."

"What's about Layla? The god of her house is Sobek, the crocodile god, who also represents the Nile. If she was the one you were following, like the _Marauder's Map_ showed, why wasn't there a crocodile? Was she … invisible?" Hermione's logic even worked at four in the morning.

Harry shrugged. "Could be."

Draco stared at her. "You ask why there wasn't a _croc_? Thank you so much, Granger! Behind me a snake the size of the basilisk, with poison that works in seconds, and in front of me a walking handbag with a trap full of teeth! That would certainly have given me a better chance!"

Hermione shrugged sheepishly. "I didn't say that I _wanted_ for Layla to be a crocodile, but since it seems that the other three can shift into their House-gods, it would be reasonable that she would take the form of a crocodile."

"Thanks! That's so reassuring," he teased, and sighed. "So, what about that fog? I mean, fogs around the castle are nothing unusual, but only in the open hallways and the yards, and not inside of the building. And then there was Fred and George's swamp. And this one glowed enough to show me the way without using the _Lumos-_charm."

"Shape shifting wizards can't transform into…" Harry started, but this time he was interrupted from Hermione and Draco simultaneously.

"Wrong!"

He lifted a brow. "What?"

"Death Eaters can change into something like black fog, or a black tornado. Some very skilled Aurors are able to transform into something like a white mist," Hermione answered, impatiently. "We saw it the first time in the Ministry, when Tonks, Lupin and the others came to our rescue. And we witnessed it again during our time on the run last year, don't you remember?"

"She's right. We both also saw Death Eaters do this on the shore of the Black La-" Draco's mouth snapped shut, shocked that he blurted out what he'd kept secret for weeks now. He frowned at Harry, who simply nodded. "I know about that little visit."

His eyes darted to his partner, who blushed, mumbling, "I had to tell them, but we decided to let you alone and not to contact a teacher."

Draco took a deep breath, pressing his lips shut. _'__Damn it, of course she had to run to Scarhead and the Weasel! As if she would_ not_ share something with her two friends!'_

Harry returned to the topic of discussion. "So, the mist was like something that skilled Death Eaters can do, only it was white and glowing?"

Tearing his eyes from an embarrassed Hermione, the Slytherin answered slowly, "No, it was like an ordinary fog that creeps over the ground, but it moved straight forward, and even rose once, like a person, before it slipped further through the dungeon, having a clear destination in mind … or whatever."

"Abdelghani?" the Gryffindor-Queen assumed. "Maybe it was he, and Abdel wanted to prevent you from getting caught by him."

"The _Marauder's Map_ showed that Abdelghani never left his chambers," Harry repeated.

Draco snorted: "A nice way to keep me safe, hurling me against a wall."

"Maybe it was the lesser of two evils," Hermione offered, and bit her lip as he looked at her, appalled.

"He could have broken every single bone in my body, including my neck! So excuse me if I'm a bit sceptical of any so called 'helpful' intentions," he sneered.

"Well, after all, you know what it's like getting your bones rattled," Harry commented dryly and met the raised brow of his former arch-enemy. "I thought I would do anything I could to win a Quidditch-match, but I have never considered throwing myself off a broomstick and hurl myself into the crowd to catch the Snitch. Not until now."

Malfoy grinned at that, pride mirrored in his blood shot eyes. "Well, you'll have to work it if you want to beat me in late spring when our teams face each other."

"Just you wait, we've been working on -"

"Guys! We have other problems at hand besides an upcoming Quidditch-match _next year_!" Hermione interrupted exasperatedly. "Really, it's the same with most men in the Muggle-world; they forget everything else when a soccer-match comes up."

Malfoy frowned. "What's soccer?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, not now! It's a ball game, that's all you need to know for now!"

"Yes, Mom!" he grumbled, ignoring Potter's surprised smile. "So, aside from the fact that our House-guest tried to kill me tonight…"

"Or saved you!" Granger threw in, but was ignored.

"… we'll have to watch our guests even more closely now." He met the two puzzled looks and grimaced: "They didn't act during full moon as usual, but at new moon – a time we never thought they would. Until now, we thought we had to watch their activities only when the moon was full, but obviously this is not the case." The other two nodded, and, after taking a deep breath, again flipping the cloth, he added: "And we still have to figure out what's up with those bloody dolls. It didn't look like a toy. It was rather ugly and primitive, but I think they have a purpose. Maybe a kind of medium for their magic?"

"Like voodoo?" Hermione asked. "Could be. I think I remember that in ancient times, magic was done with a sort of dolls made of wax, if you want to hex someone. It was a kind of forerunner of today's voodoo, but I'm not sure. I think I'll send an owl to my mom. Maybe she can find out a little more about it on the web."

Harry nodded, and Draco looked bewildered the second time in a few minutes. "What do you mean on the 'web'?"

Throwing her hands up, Hermione sighed in mock frustration. "Heavens, whatever have you learned in Muggle Studies?" He frowned and she waved away the question. "I'll explain it later, I promise." She looked back at Harry. "I'll go to the library tomorrow. Maybe I can find something there about this kind of magic, and…" She gasped. "One moment! I copied the signs from Edis' doll!" She dug into the pocket of her jeans, grinning as she pulled out the parchment. "Here, I almost forgot it."

The others beheld her in awe. "How did you…?" "When did you…?"

She smiled mischievously. "I 'borrowed' the parchment and a quill from Gene, in Edis' dorm." She unfolded the sheet and laid it on the table. "Here! Maybe I can find something about them in the library, too."

Draco carefully raised himself into a sitting position, grimacing as his entire body protested, and the room promptly started to spin around him again. He needed a moment to regain some control, then he pushed the blanket aside and looked down on the parchment, smirking suddenly. "You 'borrowed' it from Gene? And how do you plan on giving it back?" He snickered, as Hermione blushed. "I never pictured you as such a rebel, Granger. You even steal from your school mates."

"I did not steal! I ... I ... I… well, desperate times call for desperate measures," she finished lamely, while Harry chuckled.

"Tsk tsk, Hermione Granger resorting to clichés as well!"

Lowering her head, she heard the other two chuckling. Harry took mercy on her and rose. "All right. It's late enough and I would really like some sleep before classes start." He looked down at the ash grey Head-Boy. "Get better," he said not unkindly, and received a look of surprise. "Oh, by the way, I think we should summon the others for a quick meeting tomorrow just before dinner, to fill them all in. Classes are over then and we all have a free period."

"I'll send the message after breakfast," Hermione nodded, still pink, and turned to her partner. "You'll getting a coin too, Draco," she said firmly.

"I get one?" he asked after several seconds.

Harry wanted to protest, but Hermione was quicker. "Yes! This would never have happened to you if Harry could have warned you," she said, pointing at his bruised temple. "This is far more dangerous than we thought, and if you are helping us, we have to make sure that you're safe. Too bad we can't use cell phones," she added under her breath.

"But he isn't a member of the D.A.!" Harry protested.

"I already know your little secret. I used something similar in our sixth year with the two vanishing cabinets, Potter."

Crossing his arms, Harry looked at him. "Does it mean that you are _joining_ us? Will you make the loyalty vow?"

This was an historic moment. Not anything that would go into a book, but considering their prickly history, it would change almost everything between the two wizards, and also for the young witch. Draco felt this. There would be no going back if he chose to join Potter's little army. He had already begun his journey away from his old life months ago, after he became conscious of the insanity that surrounded him. Choosing to join the D.A. was only one more step into that direction, one that would codify this decision. His heart and soul told him it was the right one. Fighting down the old jealousies and the loathing of seven years' enmity, the Prince of Slytherin rose on shaky legs. When he was steady, he took a deep breath and offered his hand to Harry, looking exactly as he did on their first train ride to Hogwarts, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, and he'd tried to befriend the boy-who-lived, to gain some advantage from it. But this time, it was for a completely different reason, and certainly a more honest one. "Count me in!" he simply said. "What's the vow?"

After a second's hesitation, in which Harry's thought processes mirrored Malfoy's, he took the long, slender hand in his, shaking it. "You just made it. Welcome!"

Hermione looked from one to another and felt tears prickling in the corners of her eyes. Peace! They _finally_ made peace with each other – two leaders of the most disparate rivals of Hogwarts! "Y-you-you two idiots!" she choked out. "You could have done this _years_ ago!" And with that she first hugged Harry around the neck, and then launched herself at her Head-partner, who blinked in shock as she threw her arms around him, too, wincing as she bumped his bruised torso. But he didn't mind the pain, because his heart suddenly raced and heat shot through his body, while he suppressed the impulse to wrap her in an embrace. Instead he patted her hesitantly on the back, wishing he could do more but did not dare in front of a watchful Harry Potter.

Stepping back, Hermione glanced up at him and then at Harry, then brushed her hands over her cheeks. Potter sighed, still feeling awkward to have Draco Malfoy, of all people, in his circle, but he felt instinctively that this was the time he could trust the Slytherin. They had all been through too much to turn back now. War changed everything – sometimes for the worst, sometimes for the best. And regarding this blond wizard, both Gryffindors knew that the insanity of Voldemort's attempt to rule the world had made Malfoy a better man.

Draco and Harry both sighed, recalling. The change had already begun when he refused to identify them, when Harry and the others were brought to Malfoy Manor. Draco had recognized him instantly, of course, but Harry remembered all too well the desperate gaze Draco gave him as he faced him, full of reluctance and fear, almost silently begging him to escape somehow, and end this nightmare assaulting their world, keeping them all prisoner. And, if Harry was truthful to himself, Draco Malfoy hadn't put up a real fight against himself and Ron when they escaped the dungeons and attacked everyone in the dining-room to save Hermione. He had blocked their curses, protected his mother and himself and … well … he didn't really try to defend his wand as he – Harry – struggled with him for it. Now, months later, the boy who lived realized finally that the younger Malfoy actually tried to help him in his own, somewhat cowardly manner.

And that cowardice was gone. Harry didn't know what had changed him, how he suddenly became strong and brave instead of cowering in weakness with bully behaviour and running away when situations became risky. But the Gryffindor had to admit that the tall, pale Slytherin was no longer a spoiled boy, but a grown courageous man. And this Draco Malfoy he could accept and _respect_.

"Right," Harry mumbled reluctantly, seeing the quick look Draco and Hermione exchanged, and suddenly felt awkward in the Head's common-room – as if knowing he didn't belong here. And, by the way, the events of the night were taking their toll. He was growing very tired and there were scant hours until the next school day would start. And classes were only getting harder with the upcoming N.E.W.T.s approaching. "Time to say goodnight, you two." He turned around and reached for his cloak.

He heard Malfoy asking, "And how shall I explain this bruise?" He gestured the developing technicolor on the side of his head.

"Illusion-charm, third year stuff," Hermione said sweetly, still tearing, and earning a pointy glare from her Head-partner.

"And Abdel? After all, we are fairly certain that it was he in his Animagus-form that knocked me out. How shall I behave around him?" he questioned, almost to himself.

"I don't think you should hide your bruises. They can be used to our advantage," Harry mused aloud.

The Slytherin frowned. "How so?"

"Just tell anyone who asks that you can't remember anything. You did a late night patrol, were suddenly hit with something and came around an hour later, lying in a cold empty corridor. You might even tell him about it, proving that you haven't a clue, that you still trust him. You can observe his reaction. He might give himself away," Harry suggested, beginning to smirk.

"Possibly. And keep your wand near," Hermione added, only half joking.

His eyes met hers. "I'm not the one who has trouble reaching their wand when it's needed the most." It was a friendly tease, and Hermione simply stuck her tongue out toward him, feeling light-headed after the night's events and the lack of sleep.

Harry, realizing that the two would be fine – and certainly better than one particular redhead was wishing for – took his invisibility cloak and pulled it over him, again bid good-night and vanished, leaving the two alone.

For a long moment, both senior-students were silent, then they looked at each other – Hermione still on the verge of tears, and Draco, amused and exhausted. "Well, I do understand that you want to celebrate this little handshake with the Scarhead, but at the moment, I'd like to keep my scar out of sight and… Ouch!" She had boxed him at the arm; not hard, but hard enough.

"This is nothing to joke about. You could have been killed," she scolded him and he grimaced. "Come on," she grumbled. "I have a potion for bruises in my room. I'll get it and give you one of my painkillers so that you can get some sleep." She gathered up her comforter in her arms and walked towards her room, where Lady Hillary also scolded, "I do not appreciate that you are out so late!" She was greeted by Crookshanks, who only lifted his head, meowed, and went back to sleep. Pawing through her trunk for the potion, Hermione realized that she hadn't any wizarding painkiller, but aspirin only. Grinning she simply put two pills into a half glass of water, let them dissolve, and returned to the common-room. Draco was gone and after she called his name, she heard him answering from his room: "It's open."

For a moment she hesitated. It was one thing to bring medicine into the common-room or to walk into his private area, but – as she reminded himself – this time he wasn't drunk. He was wounded, though, and this was reason enough to put modesty aside. Taking a deep breath, she climbed the stairs up to her Head-partner's room and was eyed by an angry Sir Mael, grumbling something like: "Those modern customs today!"

Tentatively, Hermione knocked. "Draco, I have the painkiller and the potion."

Malfoy had already stripped off his boots and jacket – with some difficulty because the dizziness had returned – and had pulled his sweater out of his trousers, eyeing himself in the mirror that hung on the door of the armoire. "Damn, did I lie in blood? What happened?" he asked, only seeing now that his bloody scalp had ruined his jacket.

"Yes, more or less," Hermione answered, seeing his gaze determining that the stain on her lap was his own dried blood. It wasn't that long ago that he would have been humiliated to see his own precious 'pure blood' on the Muggle-born's clothes, but now all he could think of was that she had held his head in her lap while he had been unconscious and injured. A smile tugged at his mouth, while warmth and gratitude welled up in him.

Biting her lip, Hermione moved into his room. Instantly her nose was filled with the scent of him, together with a hint of his after-shave, and her mouth went dry. She felt quite out-of-place in his chamber, but she told herself again it was only because he needed the medicine she brought.

Malfoy cleared his throat, pushing away the immediate thought of having this particular witch within his private area. " 'He wanted to save' me, my Aunt Maude's skinny backside!" he growled and carefully pulled his jumper over his head, revealing his pale muscular upper body and the outlines of the bruises where he had hit the wall only beginning to reach full bloom. He shook his head, catching sight of himself again in the mirror. First the rough time in Hogsmeade only two and a half weeks ago, and now this! He really needed a time-out that lasted longer than a few days.

Hermione tried desperately not to stare at him. _'__Merlin's great fuzzy beard, this wizard really could turn a girl's head!'_ He reminded her of those Greek statues she had seen in the British Museum in London when she was younger, but these muscles weren't captured in marble, but were very much alive. And they weren't as extreme as those of the statues, but rippled beneath his alabaster skin. She gulped. _'__God, such a body should be forbidden, it could tempt even a saint into doing a sin.'_ Her eyes rose to his face and inquiring glance, and she blushed heavily. "Here … here is your pain killer," she said softly, while she moved uneasily toward him, feeling her knees weakening.

A knowing smirk appeared on his face – _'__D__amn his experience with girls!' _– while he took the glass and brushed her fingers while doing so, let his own linger on them a moment too long. "Thanks," he said gently, and emptied the glass of bitter liquid after a long look into her wide chocolate-brown eyes. Surprised, he tasted it and licked his lips – a gesture that made the Head-Girl swallow (to his amusement and satisfaction). "I'm certain I've never tasted this before," he said, and Hermione tore her glance away from his mouth. _No_! No, she was not thinking what she was thinking, because it would mean that she was thinking about his lips moving against hers, and how soft they were and…

She cleared her throat and directed her eyes away from him. "It's ... a painkiller I use. It has lemon in it so it doesn't taste so bad." She offered him the vial with the potion. "Here, rub this on your shoulder. G- g- good-night, Malfoy." She whirled around, not believing she'd just stuttered in front of him, intending to hasten out of his room. But he called her back, thinking of another ploy to keep her near.

"Wait!" He threw the glass carelessly on his bed, held the vial in his fingers and lifted it. "Give me a hand?" he asked and smiled inwardly as she promptly reddened.

"Umnh…?" came the unintelligible reply that gave away her uncertainty.

"I can't rub it on my back alone," he explained, knowing full well this wasn't the reason why he asked her for help. Quite honestly, he didn't need any assistance applying the potion, but the Slytherin in him realized an opportunity when it was offered, and acted on it.

Hermione chewed her lip, her large eyes fixed on the vial, then drifted toward her partner's grey face. He was obviously still in pain and the bruise on his left shoulder looked darker every passing minute. Sure, he needed some help, but this would mean that she would have to massage the lotion into his skin… The _bare_ skin of his back and…

He sat on the edge of the bed and looked hopefully up to her – an expression her nurturing nature couldn't resist. With dry mouth, she stepped hesitantly towards him and caught his tired smirk. "I don't bite, Granger – not hard, anyway."

She rolled her eyes and took the vial from him. "Last time I checked you were able to stay in the sunlight and need more than protein shakes to exist."

He lifted an asking brow. "What do you mean?" he asked, really curious now.

Hermione opened the vial and let several drops falling on her hand, before she offered Malfoy the glass to hold it. "Protein shake is a kind of Muggle description for blood, referring to a vampire's food."

Draco chuckled, finally understanding her joke. "No, Granger, my teeth are no more pointed than yours, and none change into fangs." He breathed in her fragrance as she bent over him, and added: "But if any of them mistake me for dinner, I would be honoured to have you for my first … prey."

Hermione felt a shiver down her spine as the last word came out in a husky whisper. She had read and learned in DADA that vampires did have a certain influence on humans, especially concerning sexual activity, she was sure that the Slytherin was referring to this particular detail.

Rubbing the lotion between her hands, she lowered them to his shoulder and began spreading the healing balm over the large bruise that reached from his upper arm, around his shoulder and across his back. The skin beneath her palms was hot where the purple bled into the marble/velvet, but the woman in her delighted in this intimate and forbidden touch. She felt the radiant warmth from his body, his breath danced over her arms where she had rolled up her sleeves. With care and firmness, she worked the potion into his tense muscles, praying that no serious harm had come to him, but as the first minute passed, and the second, her thoughts were no longer about his injuries, but went dizzy with the knowledge of how close they were just now. His smell rose up to her, the soft silver of his hair reflected the dancing flames of the fireplace, and his proximity made it difficult to think clearly.

Draco watched her, her face flushed, eyes betraying her every thought, and as she bit her lips, he had to draw on all his control _not_ to grab her and to pull her onto his lap. He ignored the stinging coming from his shoulder as she anointed him. Her slender fingers were so gentle, her fingertips so exceptionally soft and her sweet aroma enveloped him. He was so tired, yes, but feeling her hands on his arm and back, and from time to time almost on his chest, combined with her obviously concern for him, was like a drug – a drug that sent his mind spinning. She finished much to quickly, so he thought, as she straightened and looked at him with pink cheeks. "All done," she whispered. Her voice sounded hoarse.

Draco almost groaned in disappointment. Already? He saw her pushing a curl back from a smooth cheek as she cleared her throat. "Um … the pain killer will certainly kick in shortly, and you should be able to sleep." She backed up a step uncertainly. "Well… Goodnight a- a- and feel better!" She had to leave this room and him _now_, or she would do something very, very stupid - like pressing her lips to his.

Seeing her go, Malfoy rose and tossed the vial beside the glass on his bed, the rest of its contents spilling onto his comforter. "Granger!" he murmured and closed the distance to her after she stopped, her back to him. He stepped behind her and bent down, his nose almost touching her disorderly curls, and breathed her in. It soothed and excited him at the same time, and he had to clench his hands to his sides, otherwise he would have wrapped his arm around her. "I haven't properly thanked you for ... giving me medical aid."

Hermione swallowed. She could feel his breath on her hair, while the warmth of his body crept through her sweater. This was intoxicating, and just this moment she wanted nothing more than to turn around and snuggle into him. And remembering her hands gently kneading his bare shoulder and back, her knees went weak again. "You … you're welcome!" she whispered, not looking at him. She knew it could be her undoing. Sweet Lord, he was under her skin – she could not deny it any longer! Draco Malfoy had awoken something in her she never would have dreamed possible, considering it was_ he_ who did this to her. And she didn't dare imagine where it might lead if she gave in to the temptation.

"And you held me – in your lap," his husky voice added.

It sent a new shiver down her spine. She wanted him to wrap her in his arms, but also feared the moment he would touch her. It would change so much. It would change ... too much! "I only did ... what was necessary!" she forced out and closed her eyes, as he cupped her shoulders ever so gently. And as he turned her around, she clenched her teeth, forcing herself to stay in control.

"Look at me!" It was more a command than a request, but voiced so softly she almost didn't catch it. She knew what she would see: those smouldering storm grey eyes which, right this moment, would take her breath away. She would reveal how deeply he was affecting her. It would show him that she… that she… sweet Lord, have mercy, but she realized that at some point during the last weeks she had started to feel a desire for him that had grown into full need by now. And he would recognize it, she was sure. His male instincts and his own experience would tell him what she felt.

"Hermione," he whispered, "look at me!"

It was too much. To hear her name on his lips, how it rolled like a caress from his tongue, weakened her resolve almost enough to give in, and a moment later she had to steady herself at his waist as she glanced up. He was so close. Only an inch separated them – separated her lips from the taste of the smooth skin of his shoulder and chest, to feel this fair velvet beneath her fingertips again. His scent and his heat enfolded her and then she was caught in his arms – safe and secure. Her wide eyes hung on him, and as her gaze met the silver fire, her breath caught in her throat.

He saw it. Oh yes, he saw the awakening hunger in the depths of her large eyes, he felt the quick beating of her heart at his, and how her breasts pressed against his chest. Passion was radiating off her like the heat of an open fireplace and, unwilling or unable to control himself any longer, he bent down and his lips brushed hers – gently, pleading, starving…

The moment she felt his mouth on hers, it was as if a bolt of electricity shot through her body. Without her doing, she returned his soft ministration, felt his smooth mouth moving over hers and responded to it without a second thought. She could taste him, smell him, feel him – and the butterflies in her body fluttered wildly through every limb. She didn't even realized that her hands were wandering over his bare waist and edged toward his back; her fingertips tingled wherever they touched this human silk that covered his toned muscles. When a low moan escaped him, suddenly her sanity returned, and with it a semblance of control.

Shocked by her own actions, she tore herself away from him, taking him by surprise by doing so, otherwise she would have never been able to escape the strength of those arms. "G—g- goodn- n- night!" she stammered and fled like a deer being chased by a wolf. She tore down the steps and rushed heedlessly to her own room to seek its safety and shelter – from him.

From herself.

Draco heard her door slam shut, followed by an indignant, "Not so rough, my dear!" from the portrait that guarded her chamber. The dormitory was silent once again. He stood at the same spot, his lips still tingling from the sensation of hers against them – if only so briefly! His pulse raced, his breath hitched, his groin was painfully swollen in the suddenly tight trousers. His whole body hummed with desire, while his soul cried out for her. Merlin's beard, how much he wanted her! He wanted nothing more than to carry her to his bed, to delight her, woo her, learn of her, and to make mindless, passionate love to her.

Only later, after he'd washed and finally lain down between mattress and cover, did he realize how he'd thought about it, the term he'd used. It was the first time he'd ever referred to bedding a girl as 'making _love_'…

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Ron was fuming the next morning after he learned of Harry's and Hermione's nocturnal excursion. He was accustomed to being a part of those adventures, and not being left out. But Harry told him flatly that he couldn't risk getting caught by Filch or a teacher by having him and Hermione break out in one of their loud quarrels, which would have been inevitable just at that moment. _'And,'_ Harry thought, _'I don't think that things would have turned out like they did last night, with Malfoy joining us, if Ron had been there trying to hex him.'_

Nonetheless, he reported to Ron everything that happened, and even though his best friend was irritated and somewhat offended at being left behind, the news was too much to be ignored. "They really are walking around in the shape of those old gods?" he asked Harry, while he straightened his tie. "Crass!"

"Yeah, but I'm more interested in where Layla was. I swear, I didn't see her on the map until she suddenly appeared at the entrance hall. She must have been away from Hogwarts, but why and where to?"

Ron shoved the day's books into his bag. "Maybe the three others were watching for her, while she, well, did her assignment – whatever that was."

"I thought so at first, too, but as far as I could tell, the three others were angry. Snakeman followed her, after he hissed something to Bastet and Anubis. It isn't easy to read their faces, but when a cat snarls and a wolf growls, then I'll bet they're irritated." Harry combed his wild hair in an attempt to tame it – unsuccessfully. However, the dark mess on his head did stick out in fewer directions than when he started.

"And then one of them hurled Malfoy against a wall?" Ron asked, his face suddenly brightening, while slipping into his boots. "I'll have to thank this snake-man properly. Or maybe I should just shake Abdel's hand and-"

"_NO!" _Harry reacted loudly. "Not a word to ANY of them, Ron!" he told him firmly, capturing his friend's gaze with his. "If they learn that we were watching them, they might decide that we know too much, and try to take us out of their way." He made an unmistakeable gesture, drawing his index finger across his throat. "They are powerful, that much I can tell. Shape shifting, portraits sleeping, entire dormitories put to sleep, frightening off werewolves, we shouldn't mess with them until we know more."

The youngest Weasley-son nodded slowly, understanding the urgency of the matter. "Just kidding, Harry. And how is Malfoy supposed to talk to Abdel now? If Abdel really was that giant cobra that – let me just say it again, it sounds so good – _hurled him against a wall_, then he knows that Malfoy was spying on them, and maybe the git's days are numbered. I don't think I could sit peacefully beside my potential murderer."

"Malfoy is going to act as though he doesn't remember anything. A faulty memory could be expected in a situation like that, and if he can educe a reaction from him, that would give us more answers." Harry bent down to pick up his school bag. "And, by the way, Malfoy is in the D.A. now."

"WHAT?" Ron shoved his head through the top of his sweater and gaped at Harry, not trusting his ears. "That slimy toad wants to _join_ our D.A.? Am I still asleep and this is a nightmare, or have I fallen into a parallel world?" He stared at his friend, while Harry sighed.

"Wrong tense, Ron. Malfoy doesn't want to join, he already _did_."

"You … you let him in?" Ron's face paled. "Please, Harry, tell me you didn't let him in."

The green eyes behind the spectacles looked straight at him. "Sorry, Ron, I did welcome him in. He saved Hermione's life – twice now! – he protected me when I was injured during the raid in Hogsmeade, and he fought at our side only days ago, keeping you safe, as well. We have the same goal: to protect our friends and Hogwarts against whatever our 'guests' are up to. And his knowledge and help are necessary in this."

Weasley had tugged his sweater down and crossed his arms. "You mean his love for the Dark Arts and what his Death Eater-father taught him!" he growled and Harry sighed in frustration.

"Ron, the war is over – and Malfoy has changed. It wasn't easy to see when the year began, but he really has. He wants to make up for his mistakes, and I do think this is a privilege that everyone should be granted. And yes, his background with the Dark Arts can be helpful now, because whatever Abdel and the others are planning, they're using a type of magic that certainly isn't legal. Those dolls I told you about seem to belong to a very ancient and dark magic. Hermione is going to research it today. And that fog that Malfoy saw and followed doesn't belong to any branch of magic that's permitted, I'm sure of it. It's possibly related to the magic the skilled Death Eaters use to change into black fog. We are going to need any help we can get, and if Malfoy is on our side, and can reveal what he learned in the past, then I will not turn down his offer of help."

Ron chewed his lower lip. "Has it occurred to you that this behaviour could be an act? Back in September, he was still the cruel, heartless bastard we'd known since our first trip here. And he made Hermione cry more than once. And I'm certain that her stomach problems earlier were from stress he caused. And now, within a very few weeks, he changes into this caring and righteous _friend_?" He snorted. "Harry, it doesn't fit."

"Maybe at first he was just uncertain, fell back into his old ways because they were familiar. But it's plain to see that he changed over the summer, saving Hermione and standing up for her and Phillip McLally. Yeah, he and Mione still have their fights from time to time, but considering the history between him and us, we…"

"Good morning, lads, time for breakfast!"

Ginny peeked into the chamber and grinned at them. Harry's eyes went wide, then he strode to her and pulled her into a fierce embrace that made her gasp. "Whoa, slow down, Harry. What happened?" she said, placing her arms on his chest.

"I was so worried about you last night," he whispered and held her close, and Ginny frowned.

"Why were you worried? I slept like a log all night."

"You were hexed with a sleeping-charm," he answered.

Her eyes grew large. "I was _what_?"

Her boyfriend and her brother quickly filled her in, and Ginny reddened. "I –I- I was… Neriman did … that _royal TART_!"

"Hush, keep it down, Ginny," Harry added quickly. "She can't know that we know about her and the others!"

She stood arms akimbo, presenting a younger vision of Molly Weasley. Ginny snapped: "I _know_, Harry!" She shook her head. "Oh, that little beast. A sleeping-charm! The nerve of her and the others!" She frowned. "And Abdel knocked Malfoy into a wall?"

"A giant cobra did, but we the think it was Abdel in his Animagus form," Harry repeated, and her face fell.

"Poor guy, he must be hurting," she murmured.

"Maybe Abdel got the old fairy tale of 'The Frog Prince' backward, and hurled him against the wall to change him into a toad," Ron snickered and Ginny rolled her eyes.

"The princess _kissed_ the frog and he changed back in his human form, dear brother-"

"Not in the original story, when those Grimm-brothers wrote them down! In them, the princess threw the frog against a wall, and he changed back into a prince," Ron corrected his younger sister.

"She hurled him against a wall and was rewarded by his hand in marriage? What kind of a lesson is that?"

Her brother shrugged. "I don't know. Seems unfair to me, but that's how the original story goes."

Harry looked back and forth between them and chuckling in amusement. "Since when do you read Muggle fairy tales?"

Ginny snorted. "We had to in Muggle Studies last year, when that awful crone Carrow was our professor. We had to read 'Hänsel and Gretel' to teach us how Muggles treat their children and what Muggles would do with a real witch, if she ever got caught. Rubbish, if you ask me. But I liked the other stories and Ron read them during the summer. Obviously I missed the version of 'The Frog Prince' Ron mentioned." She threw her brother a mocking glance.

"Well, kissing the frog or throwing it against a wall is not the issue, but we'd better hurry up if we want to get breakfast," Ron grumbled, passing his sister. "Oh, one more bit of news: at the next D.A. meeting you can welcome the 'poor guy' as a new member." His voice was laced with sarcasm.

Ginny's eyes went very wide again. "Malfoy… joined the D.A.?" she asked Harry, who shot Ron an irritated glare, and nodded.

"Yeah, last night."

She giggled. "Then the old saying must be true." Both boys paused to look at her as they headed toward the door. She explained: "A whack to the back of the head increases intellectual capacity." This time both Harry and Ron had to laugh, and they walked down to the Great Hall in a better mood.

Hermione was already there. She stood with Malfoy by the teachers' table, talking with the headmistress. Curious, the three took their places at the long table and greeted Neriman, who sat yawning in front of her breakfast, nodding silently to them. Her eyes wandered to the two Head students.

"What happened?" she asked quietly. "Malfoy looks like he was beaten up."

Ginny exchanged a quick look with her brother, while Harry responded with feigned surprise: "He was beaten up? When? He looked fine last evening."

The oriental girl shrugged. "Not this morning. He is marked on his head, and he moves slowly."

Ginny directed her attention toward Hermione and Draco. His usual straight posture was not so straight, and she felt pity for the boy. He really had to be in pain if his proud Slytherin pureblood posture faltered. And then she noticed that Abdel's attention was fixed attentively on the Head-Boy …

TBC…

_So, my dear readers, I do hope this was a chapter to your liking. The relationship between the two grows – and it will become more and more intense from chapter to chapter now, promised._

_In the next part Hogwarts' inhabitants will witness an almost sweet encounter between the two – much material for gossip – and you will learn more about the four Egyptians' intentions._

_Have a nice weekend,_

_Please, please leave some more reviews, I'm so curious how you liked this chapter,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	32. The Gathering of Information

_Hallo, my dear Readers,_

_And once again at Saturday you get a new part of the story. The whole situation in Hogwarts is more serious than our friends are thinking, as you will learn within this chapter. Oh, and there will be a sweet-funny encounter between our two Head-students._

_Enjoy the next update,_

_Please let me know about your thoughts,_

_Love you all,_

_Lywhn_

**Chapter 31 – The Gathering of Information**

"And you are certain that you didn't see anyone?"

McGonagall normally haughty gaze was centered on the young man; surprise, confusion, irritation and compassion roiling behind her cool eyes. Draco Malfoy was not ... in good condition, to put it mildly. The visible knot on his left temple was large and discolored; he walked as if he hurt all over. He had been brutally attacked and the headmistress summoned him forward the moment she learned of the incident. He and Hermione were sent to the head table almost the moment they entered the Great Hall. Students hexing each other was not unusual, but a report of such physical violence was rare.

"Yes, Professor, I noticed nothing out of the ordinary. I heard something, started to turn, and, in that same moment, something hit me. The last thing I remember was meeting the wall, and the next I knew was that Hermione was stopping the bleeding." He pointed at his head.

"Galloping gargoyles!" Slughorn fumed. "I taught at Hogwarts over twenty years, and now again for three, but I never heard of anything like this! An attack on a Head-Boy like that is a shame and a crime!" His round face was puffing in indignation.

At that moment, Filch came into the Great Hall, glared contemptuously (his normal facial mien) at the students and walked to the teachers' table, eying Draco with distrust and Hermione with contempt, while Mrs. Norris trotted over to Neriman and snuggled against her leg. "I checked the hallway Mr. Malfoy spoke of. There's dried blood on the wall and even more on the floor."

"Yeah, mine!" Malfoy sneered, and the caretaker scoffed.

"Maybe y' finally shoved at someone a notch too hard this time." In earlier days, Draco had used every opportunity to harass the Gryffindors or the other friends of Harry, and was not averse to mocking all students from other houses. He'd worked with Filch hand in hand, but since the young wizard called him a cretin two years ago, when Filch demanded answers about the oddments the young Malfoy wanted to bring into school, the caretaker had been increasingly annoyed with him. And since the Head-Boy had started to change so obviously, and seemed to form a truce with those students he knew to be ignoring the rules, Filch had developed a loathing even for this boy, calling him a 'traitor' behind his back.

"That would be no reason to attack Draco like this! And the only person he seems to have pissed off is _you_!" Hermione snapped, her hazel eyes flashing, ignoring McGonagall's sharp: "Miss Granger!" The Head-Girl was still befuzzled by her whirling feelings generated last night by her partner – especially the kiss that had haunted her (again) in her dreams. But hearing the hurtful words from the caretaker, the lioness awoke one more time.

"And what about those two boys he hexed because of that runaway and you?" Filch spat back. "Those stories of his bloody heroism been pollutin' the school for weeks now!"

"Mr. Filch, manners, please! You are speaking of my Head-Students, so keep your comments to yourself!" Minerva intervened firmly. Then she turned her attention back to the young Slytherin. "Would you like me to inform your parents about the incident?"

Draco shook his head. "No, Professor. Thank you. That won't be necessary."

"You were attacked, Draco. It was serious, and your parents should be informed about it," the headmistress mused, but Malfoy repeated his head shake.

"They have enough of their own problems right now, Professor. I wouldn't want them to present themselves as targets just to come check on me."

The headmistress pursed her lips, examining him from above her high collar, and finally nodded. "All right, Mr. Malfoy, I see your point. I shall not tell them."

Slughorn spoke up. "Mr. Malfoy, I insist that you visit the hospital wing and allow Madame Pomfrey to check you properly. I trust nothing is broken, but we must be certain."

The Slytherin nodded, but still had Potter's plan firmly in mind. _'__Pothead had the right idea_,_'_ he admitted to himself. Abdel might give himself away when confronted by Malfoy with no clear memory of what happened. "Yes Sir, but may I have breakfast first? I'm starving."

McGonagall nodded. "Of course, but to the hospital immediately following. We can assess your injuries, but Mrs. Pomfrey can also give something against the pain."

"I already gave him a pain killer last night and one this morning," Hermione said

She found herself the focus of the Head of her house. "What painkiller might that be, Miss Granger?" McGonagall asked, frowning.

"Sometimes every woman needs one," Hermione explained, winking at the headmistress, who understood, and nodded minutely.

"I see. And which one did you give Mr. Malfoy?"

"An aspirin," she replied innocently, and promptly Minerva's eyes widened, while Slughorn and Madame Sprout choked.

"I understand that is an excellent Muggle discovery," McGonagall replied simply, swallowing the laughter that was bubbling inside of her, eyeing Draco for the inevitable reaction. He didn't disappoint her. A horrified expression blossomed on the pale features that almost made her laugh out loud. Almost.

"You … you dosed me with _Muggle medicine_?" he gasped at the girl.

Hermione smiled sweetly up to him. "You are still alive, aren't you? I would like to point out that you said yourself this morning that it helped."

His cheeks had turned pink, obviously at a loss for words. Granger giggled and took his wrist, tugging him away from the teachers' table. "Come on, get some breakfast into you and visit Madame Pomfrey afterwards. We wouldn't want you to faint from lack of food."

"He just might, after finding out he's taken Muggle medicine," McGonagall commented dryly, highly amused. Then the twinkle disappeared and her expression became serious again. "We will investigate, Mr. Malfoy, and hopefully discover who attacked you. But, whoever it was might attempt it again, so I think it's advisable that you both patrol together from now on, and not separately. And, I repeat, it is not necessary to patrol after midnight. I appreciate you taking your duty seriously, but you need your sleep, to pass those N.E.W.T.s, so stay in bed. Is that understood?"

Both nodded, and Draco's headache increased, then he and Hermione left the teachers' table. McGonagall watched them go. The raid in Hogsmeade, Death Eaters around Hogwarts again, a dead centaur, strange animals in the school, and now the Head-Boy, also the son of a former Death Eater, attacked within the castle itself. A few more colourful stones dropped into her own internal glass of troubles.

On the floor of the Great Hall, Malfoy threw an indignant sneer at Hermione. She had tricked him, that little minx! "A Muggle medicine. Really, Granger! And here I thought you might like me!" he growled under his breath.

"Stop grousing, Malfoy. I do like you, or I wouldn't have bothered to give it to you," she shot back, almost grinning.

"But… it was from _Muggles__!_" he protested, earning curious glances from other students nearby.

"My parents have used aspirin for their patients for decades now, and they are very happy with it. And it helped you get to sleep and stop hurting for awhile. So stop whining and be grateful," she replied.

"I _am_ grateful," he sighed, only just noticing that she still held his wrist – a gesture that attracted a couple of raised eyebrows. It wasn't that long ago that he would have been repulsed by her touch, but not anymore. And then an idea popped in his head, possible payback giving him a Muggle potion_, 'and running away last night when I'd barely touched her lips with mine,'_ leaving him in a state that haunted him for the rest of the night, even more than the attack in the corridor had. He grinned, knowing exactly how to do it. "And you can let go of my wrist now," he said, louder than needed. "Someone might think you're trying to hold my hand – or that you just can't bear to be separated from me!"

That did it. She dropped his wrist as if burned. "You… you … you are the rudest, most arrogant, self-centered, ungrateful, pigheaded, stubborn, egotistical git in this entire wide world!" she barked, pushing away the memory of last night and the feelings which came with it.

He started to laugh. "And I won't take it back, Granger. In some weird twisted way, you can't keep your hands off me!" He bent down, his face an inch away from her scowl, his eyes full of mischief. Taking her by the shoulders (someone at the Ravenclaw table gasped) he drawled loud enough for all around them to hear, "Now wouldn't you like to kiss it and make it all better?" He grinned widely, then stepped back in case she took a swing at him. And, to his delighted satisfaction, she stared at him open-mouthed, her cheeks turning an even deeper red.

_His words had brought the image forcefully to mind of him with chest bared, bruises and scratches on his perfect white skin, now caressing them not only with fingertips, but this time with her lips; the smell of him filling her senses, his heart beating far too quickly beneath her hungry mouth … _A fraction of a moment later, she snapped out of it, speechless, feeling her cheeks burning. Suddenly it was too warm in the Great Hall, and her pulse was racing. And then she saw that smirk, his grey eyes mocking, as if he had read her mind again!

He waved, turning. "Until later, Granger, and thanks for last night!" he said at the same level, and winked at her. Everyone in earshot looked at each other, and there was a mocking response of, 'Ooo-OOO!' from the other students near them. He strode to his table, grinning.

Her voice rang again through the Great Hall: "He's thanking me for helping him after he got hurt, you balmy gits, not for sleeping with him!"

"_Miss Granger_!" McGonagall yelled. "Language!"

"Tell that to the wanker you assigned as my Head-partner, Professor!" Hermione shot back, forgetting the courtesy she owed the headmistress, then stomped off to her seat at the Gryffindor table, uttering inappropriate maledictions, and Minerva promptly took ten points from Gryffindor.

Draco sniggered. His little lioness really had fire, he gave her that. And his mouth watered, when he considered how her fire might just play out in bed.

Crossing to his seat, he knew that the gossip was beginning about his injuries, and his possible relationship with his partner, but he didn't care. Not just this moment. He had more important matters at hand. Like driving out the thoughts about the alluring Miss Gryffindor and concentrating on his next actions. He took his seat between Graham and Abdel, who looked at him curiously. The other house members wore assorted expressions, as if he'd turned into a troll wearing a dress and just did a dance in the middle of the Great Hall.

"What was that about?" the Egyptian wizard asked, his expression unreadable.

Draco knew that he was a good actor, but right now he had to outdo himself. "Someone attacked me last night when Granger and I were on patrol," he replied nonchalantly, glancing beneath his lashes at Abdel, picking up his pumpkin juice, seeming to concentrate on his breakfast. "She found me and stopped the bleeding."

"Who was it down there?" Graham asked in shock, forgetting that he wanted to ask Draco if he really had the bookworm in his bed last night. Draco was still fully focused on the reaction of Abdel, who sat tensed beside him. He chose the next words carefully.

"I don't know," he said resignedly. "I can't remember anything." He shrugged. "I'd walked from our dormitory along the dungeons to check on the Hufflepuff area, and then … well, nothing."

"You ... remember nothing?" _Was that significance in Abdel's voice?_

As he turned his head toward the olive skinned wizard, he was certain he saw him tense again, though Abdel's expression was carefully neutral. "No, nothing. I came back to myself after Granger found me. She came looking for me when I didn't return to the common room."

"By St. Bridget's shiny gold crock, that was mighty lucky. When you think of the size of this castle, it was amazing she found you at all," Patrick remarked, shocked to see Malfoy like this.

"We decide together which halls we're going to check, in case something ever happened. Well, something did. Otherwise I might have been there 'til morning." He glanced back at Abdel, who had visibly relaxed and looked somewhat relieved. And that told him more than anything else.

A quarter hour later he was on his way to the hospital wing, still considering Abdel's reaction to his words. There was a good chance it had been Abdel wearing his snake form, and Draco was not pleased to see his suspicions proven. He had enjoyed the company and comradeship of the oriental wizard. They might even become friends, but now …

The Head-Boy pressed his lips shut. Betrayal hurt. He'd always been careful not to let others get close to him, and it was rare that he let his guard down, but this time he thought he'd discovered a like mind in Abdel. He'd been mistaken, it seemed, but something nagged at his mind. If had Abdel attacked him because he'd been spying for him and the others, why hadn't he made sure that he, Draco, would not be able to tell anyone? Of course he was grateful to be still alive, but it didn't fit. If Abdel wanted to prevent them from discovering their secrets, then why hadn't he killed him? In his Animagus form as a cobra he could have murdered him with one bite, but he only knocked him out. Possibly snake poison would have been too suspicious, but it would have been an easy task to kill him, after he fell. And Granger and Potter found him alone later, otherwise they would have seen the snake.

Draco sighed. Something didn't fit. Maybe…

"Mr. Malfoy?"

The shy treble belonged to none other than Phillip McLally, who slipped out of a niche. He looked suspiciously about, then gestured Draco to follow him. Frowning, Draco made certain they were not followed or seen. Fortunately, classes had already started, and they were alone, so followed the boy into an empty classroom.

"You'd better have a good reason for skipping class," Draco said sternly, and Phillip nodded.

"I have." He hesitated, then added: "Could you make a spell so that no one can hear us?"

Malfoy raised a brow. "A _Silencio_-charm? Why?"

"I don't want her to hear us," he said in a small voice. Beckoning Draco to bend over to him, he whispered in the Head-Boy's ear. "It's about Layla. Hermione asked me to keep an eye on her. I watched her last night and … and I think this is important."

Malfoy was instantly interested, then waved his wand, spoke the silencing charm and a locking spell. "Go ahead!"

The boy relaxed a mite, and proceeded with his story. "I couldn't sleep last night, so I went to the common room to read. It was around three this morning when I got very, very cold. I thought about putting some wood on the fire when I saw something blowing in under the door to the common room. I ducked around the corner of the fireplace and watched it, because I couldn't tell what it was. Then I saw that it was a kind of fog and it came straight into the room, as if moving on purpose." He shuddered visibly. "I can't ... I don't … it felt, you know, _evil_ and … and strange. All of it came into the room and then… then it rose and turned into a person." He bit his lips and Draco saw the fear in the boy's eyes.

"Go on, Phillip, she can't hear you. You're safe here," he said, not unkindly, reassuring the small boy. '_Wait! Since when do I care for others like that?'_ _'Since you fell for the lioness and her big heart!'_ his inner voice told him flatly. He shook his head, concentrating on the boy's story.

Phillip swallowed. "It got tall, like a person and then the fog was gone, and Layla stood there. She looked … really strange, like there was a shadow around her face, then she shook herself, laughed out loud, and walked to the girls' dorms." He took a deep breath. "I swear, I didn't dream this!"

Draco, hearing what he'd already suspected, laid one hand on the youngster's shoulder. "I know, Phillip," he murmured thoughtfully. "I believe you." He looked towards the window, where a heavy rain pelted against the glass. So, the fog _had_ been Layla. And he couldn't imagine what might have happened if she'd been the one who caught him instead of Abdel. Somehow he knew that Abdel's assault had been the lesser of two evils.

What had Hermione said? That Abdel might have been attempting to protect him? He was still unsure about that conclusion, but he was ready to consider the possibility.

"So, what now?" Phillip interrupted his thoughts, and Draco snorted.

"You are going to class and I am going to the hospital wing." He saw the disappointment on the boy's face, and added without thinking: "Thank you for telling me. This was a big help." Instantly Phillip's expression brightened and Draco sighed inwardly – damn, he was getting soft. "So, where are you headed?" he asked, knowing that he would have to vouch for the child. He'd risked detention for coming to him during class.

"History of Magic with Professor Binns," Phillip replied resignedly.

Malfoy smirked. "Yes, I think he tries to bore his students to death, so that he can share his existence with others besides the castle ghosts."

Phillip covered his mouth when he laughed, while Draco removed the charms. "If Binns notices you're late, then tell him that you were with me, because I needed you to help me to the hospital wing, okay?"

The boy looked at him, grateful. "Thanks! And feel better."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sometime before lunch, on the fourth floor level, a hand shot out of an abandoned classroom and pulled a girl inside. Layla hissed in irritation when she saw it was Abdel. He locked the door and threw up the silencing charm.

"What are you doing?" she snapped, glaring at Edis and Neriman, as they came out of the shadows, but then found Akay Abdelghani leaning against a desk, arms folded and frowning, his eyes narrowed.

He replied, "So, you thought it better to go ahead without us instead of complying with our plan?"

'Go ahead without us'? For a moment she nearly panicked, then she blinked and held tightly to her mask of innocence. "Whatever do you mean, Professor?" she asked, her eyes large.

Akay was a man who always held his emotions firmly in check, but at this moment, his expression was angry. "I told you all that we would not move again before the next full moon, and you-"

"I had an excellent reason for visiting that museum-" Layla interrupted. When he merely glared at her, she took this as the sign to go on. "-the new wards around Hogwarts and, above all, keeping our secret safe." He waited. She sighed. "Three times now Neriman and Edis met others when they were in their native form – and on two of those occasions it was the Head-Girl who saw them, both times at full moon. Hermione Granger is no fool, sir. I think that she and her partner are about to figure out that the mysterious 'cat' and 'wolf' are somehow connected to the full moon, and curious as they are, I am certain that they will be looking for us at the next one."

"Hermione didn't see us twice-" Edis began, but Layla continued.

"No? So it wasn't you and Neriman who chased away the werewolf the night before we officially arrived here in Hogwarts, saving the two Head -Sudents? And Hermione didn't see you, Neriman, as you prowled the halls a month later, behaving like a cat?" She returned the hard stares of the others, and turned back to her teacher. "And then these two rescued the same two students, and in their alternate forms, and later they almost get caught by a stupid house elf." She shook her head. "I am certain that Harry Potter and his friends are collecting their bits of information."

Abdelghani shook his head. "And so you took matters into your own hands, slipped out of school without my permission and broke into the museum on your own." His dark eyes fixed the other three young people. "And you all went with her!" He sounded more disappointed than angry.

Abdel spoke up. "Sir, at first Layla came up with the idea to test the new wards you described to us. We wanted to know if our technique still works with the new spells the Aurors cast in and around Hogwarts. And then we agreed that, if Layla was successful, leaving the castle without setting off an alert, she should try to get the urn."

Taking a deep breath, Akay stared one at the other three, then directed his attention back to Layla. "What's done is done. Were you at least successful?"

She sighed. "Yes. Sort of. The Muggles must now face the fact that some of the precious artefacts stolen from our country disappeared without their silly alert device going off." She crossed her arms, as Neriman addressed her:

"What exactly did you take with you and where are they now?"

For a long moment the two girls glared at each other, their dislike mutual, even if Neriman wasn't aware of it until now. She couldn't stand the other witch, that was all, but why her inner cat hissed as soon as Layla approached was still a wonder to her. Bastet and Sobek were two sides of the same coin, and there had been no enmity between the two gods whose spirits lived in them. So why she had the urge to literally show her claws when the other girl was near was a growing mystery to her.

Layla's generous lips gave her associate a mocking smile. "I found a papyrus on which the trial ordered by Ramses IV is recorded. There was also the urn the papyrus in Florence told of, but it was empty." She heard the others gasp, looking at her in shock. She took a deep breath, shielded her mind with Occulumency, and continued with a feigned disappointment: "There was signage that said that the urn was a funerary object of one of the Ramses pharaohs, and that it was found during the service of a Roman senator."

Neriman blinked. "But… the papyrus in Florence said that the urn at Ramses the Third's feet was sold to some rich Roman citizen-"

"-whose name wasn't mentioned, Neriman," Layla interrupted her impatiently. "Whose ashes were held in the urn in the British Museum. They're gone with the wind forever. Maybe it was the ash of the leader of the palace guard who revolted against Ramses. Maybe it did hold Penhuibin's ashes for centuries, but now, whatever was in there, is gone."

"And we don't know for sure that this urn we've been tracking now for weeks was the one we need to find," Edis growled, glaring at her. His nostrils flared, while deep in his eyes something golden glistened – the eyes of the being that lingered in him.

"So, the urn or the ashes or both might really be lost somewhere in Italy or even some other country," Abdel mused. "If so, the risk that some follower of Penhuibin will try to resurrect him when the time comes is minimal."

Layla smiled at him, willing her face to show some assurance and relief. "It seems so, yes. The Muggles exhibit a lot of stuff from the Ramses period, but neither in Paris, nor in Florence, nor in Berlin or now in London is there any hint that they have an urn that was really found in Ramses' III grave. Please remember that the Romans put all four Ramses in one tomb grave after they opened their original last resting place. And they pillaged the graves. The urn, if it has survived, must be lost somewhere, and the person possessing it does not know what he has. And if Penhuibin's followers haven't found it before now, the chance that they will locate a trace of it before the time for their ritual has come is very, very small."

"So, our job is done?" Neriman looked at Abdelghani, who lifted a brow.

"The danger is only over when the two vital artefacts – the knife with Penhuibin's Ba and the urn with his ashes – are not found and the time is up and the stars are back in the same constellation as they were at the day of Penhuibin's death," he answered. "But there are still more than five months left, and I don't think that we can report to those who sent us that the danger is over. It's still much too early." He looked back at Layla. "Where are the papyrus and the other artefacts you found?"

"I hid them in the cave you found during your walks, secured by several charms in an earthenware jug I also took from the museum. I think it's safer there than here in Hogwarts. The ghosts here can go everywhere and look into everything."

The professor nodded slowly. "Good, I will have a closer look at them soon." He pushed himself away from the desk. "Well, if we now can make sure that no one finds Slytherin's grave or castle, then we are out of the woods. That, or we find his remains and bring the knife to safety. Your next assignment is to collect information about the fourth founder of Hogwarts and his whereabouts after he left the school. But use caution. The tales of strange beings within these walls have started and it would be dangerous if anyone learned of our true reason for being here." He walked to the door, but turned again to face them. "And Layla, if you decide you disagree with an order, please take it up with me before you take action. I will not tolerate another independent move by you, do you understand?" His dark eyes fixed hers.

"Professor, I-"

"I can always send you back to Egypt, Layla, and I will not hesitate to do so if you don't respect my orders!" He narrowed his eyes again. "And if you ever dare to cast a sleeping spell on me again, I will make certain that you are expelled, so don't tempt me!"

Layla stared at him, shocked. "I… cast a sleeping spell on you, Sir? I didn't ..." She turned to Abdel. "I only used the sleeping spell on the girls in the Hufflepuff dormitory. So, was it you, being a bit too enthusiastic as you did the same to the Slytherins?"

Her voice sounded tensed and surprised, but Abdel didn't – couldn't! – believe her. This was an act, he was certain of it. "No, I'm sure I only charmed the Slytherins. It could not have reached the chambers of Professor Abdelghani."

Suddenly the girl grinned. "You must have been careless. I, for my part, only sent the girls in Hufflepuff into a deeper sleep, not the boys, too. After all, they cannot go to the girl's dormitories." Innocently she looked at the professor again. "Sir, I would not dare to do anything like that to you." She smiled shyly. "I hope you are all right?"

His face gave nothing away, but nodded. "Yes, I am." He turned toward the door again, stopped once more. "I already asked Abdel and now I'm asking you, Layla. Did you see the young Malfoy last night in the dungeons?" His voice was sharp.

Layla didn't need to pretend as she shook her head. "No, I saw no one when I returned. I felt the presence of Neriman, Abdel and Edis, knew that everything was in order and returned to the Hufflepuff dorms. I certainly would have noticed if someone were following me."

"So you have no idea who could have attacked him? It was in the same hallway that leads from the entrance to the Hufflepuff dormitory you used as well." His voice had an edge now, while he eyed her with a stern gaze.

Again the witch shook her head. "No, he wasn't there when I returned. Maybe it happened later?"

"So you took the shapeless form of mist, and lost most of your senses. Maybe you didn't notice him. Could you have seen him before you re-formed?" Abdelghani asked firmly, but again she shook her head. Fixing her one long moment, he finally went to the door. "Very well, perhaps it was those two boys he argued with when he stood up for Miss Granger and the little boy." He glared back at her. "Even though things seemed to have turned out well, Layla, I warn you. Never disobey me again, or you will face the consequences!" With that he left and closed the door behind him.

For a moment the four Egyptian students were silent. Neriman looked at Abdel, whose eyes mirrored her own distrust. There was a connection between them old as time itself, and it had drawn them to each other almost before they met the first time seven years ago. "So," she started. "No problems in the museum, Layla?"

The other girl sneered. "Obviously."

"You were late – very late," Edis added and met her eyes.

"I am a witch, right, but even I can't perform miracles. The Muggles are very good at their job, and it was not easy to move under their noses and past those absurd technical devices throughout the museum at night. And lifting the safety charms protecting the two papyrus took time."

Abdel narrowed his eyes, examining the girl. He could feel strange waves radiating from Layla, and they grew stronger from week to week – something that was making him nervous. But he held his control and slowly asked: "So, all traces of the urn have really melted away over the last centuries?"

Layla glanced at him, careful not to let him see into her inner eyes: the moment she gave the urn she found in one of the glass cabinets in the London museum to Rabastan, entrusting him with the sacred item that Penhuibin's follows had searched for centuries. It was she alone who had been able to track down the long lost urn and finally find it. And not only the urn, but also a magical staff she was almost certain once belonged to Penhuibin.

With particular care, she duplicated the two artefacts using conjuration, transforming from air and magic the two objects she hid in the cave Abdelghani found, while Lestrange took the real urn with the ash and the staff with him.

The secret operation was an even greater success now, since she was able keep her discovery a secret, even in front of Abdelghani, whose powers of _Legilimens_ were vast. All she needed to do now was to keep the truth of what she did to herself, and find the remains of Salazar Slytherin, who had to have the knife with Ba with him.

'_And then Penhuibin will rise next spring and will take his rightful place in the world!'_

But she had to be careful. She couldn't allow any of the others to suspect her actions. "I am certain now that the urn is lost." She straightened. "So, are we done here?"

Abdel and Edis looked at each other, while Neriman mocked, "So sorry for interfering with your plans, but we really thought that you should have returned earlier. After all, we watched out for you for more than two hours-"

"And I appreciate your attentiveness," Layla interrupted her briskly. "Later!" she called and left the room; a proud dismissive flip of her hand was the only acknowledgement she left them.

Edis shook his head. "She is so damn … arrogant. And she is up to something. I know it."

Neriman snorted: "Have you ever known her to be different?" Her eyes found Abdel, and she switched the subject. "The rumor of what happened to Draco Malfoy last night is all over the school. And you and Layla were the only ones awake down in the dungeons. Please tell me that she lied and that it wasn't you who hurled him into the wall."

Sighing resignedly, Abdel sat down on one of the desks, facing his two friends. "I'm sorry, but … Draco was following Layla as she made her way back through the dungeons. I couldn't take the risk that she might catch him."

"Why not? She-"

Edis stopped as the other wizard explained. "I don't trust her. Not a millimetre. She is playing us false, I'm sure of it. And I'm certain that she wouldn't risk a student learning our secret. A mist moving of its own accord would awaken suspicion in anyone, and Draco is not stupid. He is highly skilled, trained in the Dark Arts for years. He'll put two and two together and know that something is going on, and come to the inevitable conclusions if he saw the mist vanishing in the Huffelpuff dormitory. I saw no other way to stop him."

"By throwing him into a wall?" Neriman shook her head. "Abdel, he could have died!"

"No, I barely nudged him."

"Yeah, you think so, but remember that a snake is proportionately far stronger than a human. You saw him. He's a mess," Edis commented, and his friend rolled his eyes.

"Better bruised than dead. And, by the way, he is not harmless. He hurled the _Avada_-curse at me and-"

"You mean at a dragon-sized cobra that was about to strike."

Neriman chuckled as she saw Abdel's cheeks flushing. "I know how you enjoy performing as a wild cobra. No wonder he tried to kill the giant beast. The poor boy must have been terrified."

"He's alive and well, and thanks to Re, he didn't even remember our encounter. Hermione helped him, treated his injury. She's a proper nurse, that one," Abdel grinned.

"He was teasing her this morning in the Great Hall," the Neriman protested. "There is nothing between them or-"

"Have you lost your cat senses, Neri?" Abdel teased her. "By Horus, even I can feel the sparks between them. I swear, if they don't get together soon, they'll both explode."

"Speaking of our senses," Edis voiced thoughtfully, "I don't know what you felt, but I think we were followed last night."

Two pairs of eyes turned to him. "Not possible!" Neriman blurted out. "I would have seen someone, even in the darkness!"

"Yeah, we didn't see anyone, but I think I smelled someone. And I'm positive that I heard footsteps." He cocked his head, his golden amber eyes shone. "When I returned to the Ravenclaw tower, I was sure that I smelled a scent that wasn't there before."

"Maybe one of the girls changed her perfume," Abdel shrugged. "I didn't hear or see anything, besides those annoying portraits."

"Maybe you two were too fixed on sensing Layla's return, but I'm almost sure that I heard someone behind us."

"Draco?" Neriman asked, and this time the olive brown wizard shook his head. "No, I know his aura. When I stepped down into the dungeons, I immediately recognized his presence and headed toward him to keep him from Layla. He must have been downstairs for a time then."

"Hermione was on patrol, too," Edis mumbled. "Perhaps it was she I smelled."

"And how could she get into the Ravenclaw tower? She is a Gryffindor. And why should she?" Neriman shook her head. "No, maybe Abdel is right, one of the girls simply uses the same as Hermione does."

Edis straightened. "Nevertheless, we must be more careful, and we should watch the two seniors more closely. I don't want them facing something they don't understand. I like those two and-"

"-and you like Luna," Neriman chuckled, smirking as he blushed beneath his black skin.

"Yeah, it's fitting - the jackal and the moon," Abdel nodded and laughed, as his friend started to protest.

If the three hadn't let down their guard, they might have noticed that they had a silent listener. Outside of the classroom, masked by an illusion charm, stood Layla Moawad, who had heard every word.

So, the two Head students were getting too nosy. And Malfoy had seen her in her cloud shape, while Granger had seen more than was good for her. She would watch the two very closely. She couldn't allow any of them to find out about their secrets and her hidden purpose.

There might be a series of unfortunate accidents…

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

At that very moment, Hermione was at the place she loved the most: the library. After she explained to the entire house of Gryffindor that Malfoy had been yanking her chain when he thanked her, referring to helping him when he got injured, she managed to get some breakfast into her, then vanished with Ginny to the first class, feeling Ron's heated gaze in her back like a torch. Of course Ron knew about the real facts of last night's events, but the jealously in his eyes and his grim expression pierced her like a knife. And the fact that he still wasn't talking to her didn't help at all. Damn the boy's stubbornness – but, to tell the truth, Hermione was just as stubborn as that Weasley!

And why did she have this problem? Because of that blighter, that slimy, snarky Slytherin ... bastard! Humiliating her like that in front of the entire school! _'Thank you for last night!'_ What was he _thinking_? Of course the whole school would assume that she was now a notch on his bedpost, and she was positive that she saw two Ravenclaws and one Hufflepuff girl getting angry, but that was nothing compared to the rage she felt now. To start a rumor about them two being a… a _couple_! The nerve!

And why did he get so close to her? Did he have to bend over her like that? Hold her shoulders like a caress? Whisper to her? Make her blush like that, as if murmuring nasty, sexual things in her ear – which, by the way, he more or less did? Did he have to wink to her for all the world to see? No, definitely not! He did it on purpose, to 'tease' her and now she had to face rumors and an enraged Ron, who was even more angry with her. Most outrageous of all, that very unwelcome tingling sensation in her belly that struck the moment he suggested that she 'kiss it and make it better' hadn't left her yet, making her ache inside.

Smug monster! Spoiled brat! She would get him for this!

Finally calming down, she concentrated on why she was there: research. She expected to have several uninterrupted hours. She and the others hadn't any afternoon classes this Friday, and so she had three hours to look around until the next D.A. meeting started. She began to look for the symbols she'd sketched from Edis' doll. She found a book about ancient magic and one about magic from Africa. She traced through several volumes concerning voodoo and the usage of dolls, but the origin of this kind of spell was lost in the years. Finally, as her resources dwindled, she contacted Madame Pince, who knew every book stored in the library.

"I believe voodoo began with the Dark Arts, or to a very, very old kind of magic. The books containing this information are therefore in the Restricted Section," the resolute lady mused. "What are you looking for?"

"The usage of enchanted dolls to increase a charm or a spell," Hermione answered carefully and Madame Pince pursed her lips. "Very interesting. Why are you learning about it?"

"For a paper for Defence Against the Dark Arts," she replied, apologizing for this lie in her heart.

"Hmm…" the librarian thought for a moment. "I do think Albus brought an old parchment about the origins of voodoo to Hogwarts approximately fifteen years ago. And, if I remember correctly, there is also an old book about ancient magic in other foreign countries, too." She fingered for her key ring and released one of them, whispering something to it, before she handed it to Hermione. "Here, you may research in the Restricted Section, since I know how responsible you are. But please no longer than an hour."

Hermione beamed at her and took the enchanted key, which moved in her hand.

"Lock the door behind you and keep the key with you. It will notify you when the time is up and will only stop after you locked the door again from the outside," Pince explained.

"Thank you," Hermione smiled, and walked towards the back of the library.

"And don't forget: the books in the first row are very dangerous. They can attack, if you open them without knowing the counter spell to tame them!" the librarian called after her.

Hermione looked back over her shoulder. "I know! Professor McGonagall warned us about them in our first year!"

"And this she still remembers," Pince whispered to herself bemusedly. "I hope she becomes a professor here!"

TBC…

_So, my dear Readers, the story is proceeding and it becomes more clearly that she tries to trick not only Hogwarts' students and professors, but also her own people. And she will be up to more nasty things, just wait._

_In the next chapter the D.A. will gather again – oh, and Draco and Hermione will not be able to keep their hands off each other (their forming relationship turns more hot now)._

_I do hope you liked this chapter (I loved to write the part in which Draco teased Mione in front of the whole school, after she 'poisoned' him with Muggle-medicine)._

_Please, please leave some reviews, I'm 'starving' here to learn about your thoughts._

_Have a nice weekend and week, (sorry, the next chapter will not be published before Sunday next week, because I'm off for a short vacation)._

_Love you all,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	33. Mixed Emotions

_Hallo, my dear Readers,_

_back from the vacation at the North Sea and my dear friend Cheetah has already welcome me with the next beta-read chapter._ _As the title says: Emotions, emotions, emotions…_

_Sorry that I hadn't a chance to publish it immediately, but as you can read in my profile I hadn't any access to my story for five days. FINALLY I'm able to edit it again and I'm happy that I can share with you the next part of this fanfiction._

_Have fun,_

_Thank you so much for the nice reviews,_

_Have a nice Sunday and next week,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 32 – Mixed emotions**

"So, Phillip observed that mist change into Layla!" Malfoy nodded at Harry's question. "Sorry, I should have known that when I saw her name on the map near yours."

Since Room of Requirement wing was still closed, Harry had to find a new meeting place for Dumbledore's Army. To everyone's surprise, Malfoy offered them the Head-Students' common room for that afternoon, when Harry told him about the meeting. The ten new D.A. members were Prefects, so it shouldn't look odd to one of the teachers if they showed up at one of their meetings.

Malfoy, still wearing his school uniform _sans_ tie, sported a large purple bruise on his temple, giving him a wanton appearance. He'd only been bruised, and not seriously, and he brought a pain killer with him from Madame Pomfrey – a real one, he pointed out to Hermione after he came back from the hospital wing just before lunch. She only glared then, and she ignored him now, as he told the group Phillip's story. "And Abdel seemed to relax after I told my whole house that I didn't know who attacked me, that there is a large black hole where my memory should be. I'm certain he was the cobra."

"It would make sense," Luna murmured, her eyes clear, without that dreamy expression she usually wore. She, like the others, was shocked as she learned about the last night's events and that they had been hexed with a sleeping spell. "If Edis can take the shape of Anubis and is also the jackal that saved you and Hermione in Hogsmeade, then Abdel is the 'snake-man' and can take the form of a real snake. A cobra, it seems."

"That can spit fire!" Draco added, frowning.

"The cobra … spit _fire_?" Harry was surprised. "I thought, only dragons could-"

"Uraeus is described as a cobra that was able to spit fire," Hermione told them. "Its fire could protect the pharaohs and also kill the enemy, as McGonagall told us on our second day back in Hogwarts. This was confirmed by the information that my mother sent as well."

"So… you battled with the 'eye of Re'," Justin murmured, looking at the pale wizard beside him. "You've developed a penchant for tilting at windmills, haven't you?"

It was a good- natured mockery and Malfoy took it as such. It was a welcome ice-breaker. With one of his trademark smirks he replied: " 'Impossible is only what you won't try to do,' as the saying goes." He sighed. "But ... it wasn't delightful."

"You tried to curse it?" Curiosity got the better of Ron, and he addressed the Slytherin for the first time that day, not glaring at him as if he wanted to tear his throat out.

"I was on the ground, it was towering over me. Of course I tried to fight it off. I don't have a death wish, you know." Malfoy shook his head slowly. "It simply absorbed the spell." He glanced at Harry. "I do think Parselmouth would have been a big help."

Harry snorted. "Possibly. But I couldn't help either. I lost the ability after Voldemort died." He stopped, as something occurred to him. "As I watched Anubis, Bastet and Snakeman-"

"Uraeus," Hermione corrected him.

He rolled his eyes. "Right, Uraeus, I heard their voices but I couldn't understand a word."

"Like the first time we saw their shadows," Malfoy thought aloud. "So they're using a foreign language, perhaps a very old one that no one can understand."

"Could be, yes," Harry nodded. "So, we know now that our guests can shapeshift not only like the Animagi, but into the bodies of some ancient gods. And they don't need the full moon to change into Anubis & Co. We also know that they do nocturnal excursions and therefore have a purpose. And we learned that they can all use a very effective sleeping charm, including the portraits, and they use dolls to make illusions of themselves being in bed." His glance found Hermione. "Did you find out anything about those dolls?"

"This is all I could get in the time I had." She tossed her notes on the table, pulling a face.

Carefully Draco reached for the thick sheaf of notes and flipped through them. "Not much," he commented, and she shot him a dirty look.

"I already said I didn't have time!" she snapped.

Her temper only made him smile. _Mercy, she was a sight to behold when she was angry! _He felt the desire rising up in him again, dancing in his veins. Gathering the famous control of his family, he pushed it aside, but the want lurked beneath the cool façade – sure to surface at the first opportunity.

Luna pursed her lips thoughtfully and took the notes from Draco, examining the neat, hurried script. "So, Edis and the others wanted us to believe they were still in their beds. And how did they create the illusion of their bodies beneath the blankets?"

"People would shape pillows to look like a body beneath the comforter," Hermione sighed. "But I don't know how the spell that can produce that illusion, or how the dolls fit in."

"Hermione Granger doesn't know?" Draco repeated, looking at her with exaggerated astonishment. "Now I'm _really_ worried!"

Ginny giggled, while the others chuckled, except Ron. Hermione exploded. "You weren't so worried this morning when you threw my reputation into the dustbin! Just you shut up and keep away from me, or-"

She stopped when the Slytherin started to laugh. "Merlin's beard, Granger, you're really worked up, aren't you?"

Hermione opened her mouth, but Harry interrupted: "Mione, please, we don't have time for this. After the meeting you can hex him if you like-"

"Hey!" Malfoy protested.

"- but right now we have to concentrate on current events. So please, pull in your claws."

Taking a deep breath, Hermione murmured to her partner, "You know this isn't over, Malfoy!" then started her report. "The use of dolls in magic is rooted in Africa, and has been perfected in the practice of voodoo, like you thought, Harry. I found a book about ancient Egyptian magic in the Restricted Section. In it, it tells how wax dolls are used to strengthen curses and spells when aimed at certain persons."

"Like today's voodoo," Justin nodded.

Hermione made a yes/no gesture. "Sort of, but long ago, in Egypt, they used wax and not wood. And they covered them with special symbols belonging to a very old script whose meaning has been lost." She took back the notes from Luna, pulling out a particular parchment. "I also found some examples that priests and wizards used dolls to hex someone. One tells of a witch who made a man fall in love with her. Another one reports that a woman whose husband cheated on her went to a wizard. The husband was made so weak that he couldn't leave the house anymore and was forced to remain loyal to his wife. It is also rumoured that, in the death of one of the Ramses pharaohs, a wizard was involved who used these dolls to enhance his magic. So you see, dolls can be used in a negative fashion, but Neriman and the others only used them to dodge Hogwarts' safety charms, as far as we know."

"What about those runes you copied from Edis' doll?" Andrew, a fifth year Prefect of Ravenclaw, asked. "Could you find some kind of translation in the library?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, but I know that the Muggles have been trying to answer the riddles of Egyptian culture for many years now – in their own way. And they were very successful in deciphering the hieroglyphs, helped in a large measure by their computers." She stroked a curl behind her ear – a gesture Draco associated with her being in deep thought. "I'll write to my mother and send her a copy of my sketches. Maybe she can find something out on the web." During her report, most of the faces were turned toward her with puzzled expressions.

"What web?" Justin asked.

Malfoy added: "Yeah, you promised to tell me about that, too."

The Head-Girl moaned. "Harry, tell them about the internet!" she sighed, and while her friend briefed the others about the realities of the world wide web, Hermione looked over her notes.

"So, your mother can look up what we need on this com… comm... commuter, colluter or whatever it's called," Dennis said. "How soon can you get an answer?"

"Within a week, I think. I'll send her an owl tomorrow, and she can hopefully look this up the next day," Hermione replied.

"Alright, sounds like a plan. As soon as you get your news, we'll meet again," Harry decided. "In the meantime, watch yourselves around our guests, or any time they could be about."

"What about Abdelghani?" Draco added. "He has to know about their nightly visits, so he must be covering for them. So, what about him?"

"We should behave as if nothing has happened," Luna said softly. "After all, they don't know we're tracking them. And they think you don't know who attacked you, so they shouldn't see you as a threat."

He nodded slowly, seeing the simple logic. "You're right." He took the notes once more, scanning them. "Those symbols …" he said, tapping the quick sketch Hermione had made. "I'm not sure, but I think I've seen them before," he had their attention, "in a book once." He shook his head, unsure.

"In Hogwarts' library?" Hermione asked, just then forgetting that she was angry with him.

"No... but," he raised his head, his expression thoughtful, "I think I saw them in our library at home." He rubbed his chin.

"At the manor?" Harry asked, and Malfoy nodded.

He looked and was surprised to see the others staring at him. Weasley's glare was the worst, and it occurred to him what the others must be thinking. But this time they were wrong. It had not anything to do with his father's past, but with an older family member who'd been fascinated by the Dark Arts, too, but never practiced them like his father did. "My great-grandfather collected a lot of very old books and documents, and kept them in his own section of our library, protected from humidity and air and weather by several spells, like those Muggle libraries where ancient books and scrolls are preserved. Father once showed me some of those very rare and expensive books. It seems I remember one of those symbols there, together with some explanations in a foreign language." His eyes went to Harry. "I can send him a copy of Hermione's parchment, and maybe he can work on a translation."

"Would he have the time?" Dennis asked. "You can't tell him why you need to know this, or where it came from. If he thinks it's just for a class project, he certainly won't waste his energy on it." He stopped suddenly, not sure if he should go on. "I mean, my father wouldn't have time for that, not knowing what it was for, and all."

Luna, who had been watching Draco, saw the hint of a sad smile flicker over his face. Draco understood Dennis' doubts. In earlier times, his father had indeed been very busy, but the threat of the Death Eaters and health issues had made him something of a prisoner in his own home. He had, of course, been injured in the attack several weeks ago, but he was also recovering the abuse of the last year, a wandless servant in his own home, waiting for Voldemort to demand something else from them, or to humiliate him yet again in front of the others.

Yes, his father had time to do research, and having a definite purpose would be a boon to his recovery. Therefore Draco answered, not unkindly, "He _was_ a busy man, but he only can leave the manor under the protection of the Ministry. So he's running his business from our home. I'm certain he would be glad to help if I explained to him that I need the information for a project that's connected to our visiting students." He glanced at Hermione. "Especially when I tell him that we can impress them by demonstrating them detailed knowledge of their history and mythology."

She rolled her eyes. "Malfoy-pride!" she muttered, but Draco only looked at her with that lingering sad smile. Of course Hermione didn't know their problems. He didn't think she'd noticed the condition the Malfoy-patriarch was in when she and the others were brought to the manor.

Harry cleared his throat, ignoring Ron's malediction spoken under his breath. "If you will, then, contact your father. But be careful. If he learns about the problems we're having, I'm sure he'll demand explanations. Then Abdelghani will be warned-"

"I know, Potter, I'm not stupid," Malfoy grumbled, taking Hermione's sketch again into his hand. "I'll copy it and send an owl. As soon as I get an answer, I'll let you know."

"All right," Luna said and rose. "Are we finished?"

Harry rose, too. "Yeah. One more thing. Mione, do you have made a summoning coin for Malfoy?"

"WHAT?" Dennis and Justin gasped.

Harry shrugged. "Didn't I tell you? Malfoy joined the D.A. last night." Now many eyes turned to the Head-Boy. Luna simply smiled knowingly, as if she'd been expecting it.

"You did?" Justin blinked several times, before mumbling, "Wow!"

Draco sighed. "Circumstances dictate that I'll be better off as part of your little group."

"Does it still hurt?" Dennis pointed at his temple and the Malfoy grimaced.

"Well, it doesn't tickle." He opened his palm towards Hermione.

Eyes still shooting daggers at him, she took a Knut from her pocket and dropped it into his hand. "Here! I'm sure you've figured out how to make it work, oh brilliant one, haven't you?"

"I have. And again, good job, Granger."

She whispered something to herself that no one caught. Then Harry took up his book bag. "Right. As soon as you two hear from your parents, we'll meet again. Until then, _be careful_, keep your eyes open, our guests must not know we're onto them. If they figure that out, it can get more dangerous than it did for Malfoy last night."

The others nodded, said good-night. Ron stared a moment at Hermione, who returned his look with a raised brow. A moment later, he snorted and followed Harry and the others out of the Head Students' common room. Soon the room was silent.

Then Hermione turned to her Head partner, her gaze promising nothing good – and Draco instantly realized his chance to turn the tables. She was most malleable when she was enraged, so a plan formed in his mind. She would be in his arms in minutes, he was sure of it…

Hermione stared at Malfoy, her eyes narrowed, arms akimbo, her gaze fiery. Draco simply returned her glare, then looked back at the door the others had just disappeared through. "You know, if the Weasel doesn't get down off his high horse soon, he'll suffocate on his own frustration."

"And whose fault is that?" the Head-Girl snapped. Seeing his innocent expression, she lost her temper. "_Yours_, you bonky blighter! 'Thank you for last night!' Have you lost your mind? Do you know what most of the students think of me now? Do you have the slightest idea what you did with that stupid arrogant remark?"

He casually pushed his hands in his trouser pockets, fighting a grin. "Made you more popular?" he suggested and watched with growing amusement how her face flushed. Yes, his plan to make her lose control was progressing nicely!

"_Popular_? Because they think I'm one of _your_ conquests? Malfoy, can your ego actually GET any bigger?" Her voice was rising when she saw the smirk tugging at his mouth, which made him more devilishly attractive.

No! Not attractive! _Never_ attractive! Only _evil_! Wicked! Nasty! Why oh why had she even been _worried_ about him last night? Why had she kissed him back? Could anyone, please, explain to her why her heart reached out to him every time she saw his other side, or when he smiled at her?

His amused drawl reminded her why she was so infuriated. "I rather thought that by setting such an excellent example to the younger students, you know, tending my wounds after I was attacked, it would make you more 'popular'. That was the reason I was thanking you. But if you think ... well," his smirk broadened, "then I don't mind a bit, Granger-"

She exploded. There was no other word to describe it. She went up like one of those Muggle devices he'd heard of that could fly to the moon. He didn't even catch everything in the flurry of insults she threw at him, but it wasn't necessary. Just seeing her like this, with eyes blazing, cheeks flushed, hands gesturing wildly, and practically bouncing with every word she hurled at him, her hair tossing with energy, she was glorious – a lioness through and through. And when she shoved the flat of her hand hard into his chest to lend weight to her outburst, a bolt of electricity flashed through his body. Oh, to get this passion into bed! How would that temper flare while making love! How wild would she be beneath him, writhing and moaning, while she clung to him, those incredible legs around him…

He felt blood rushing downwards, heat growing at the mere imagination of having her finally in his arms – naked and willing. And she was so close! So damn close! He only had to reach out and he could pull her to him.

_And the time was nearly here ... _

"Is there an appropriate reply ANYWHERE in you?"

Her voice, usually so sweet, had reached a new octave; her furious look would have given even Snape goosebumps. But not Draco. His mind was reeling with desire as he saw her like this.

"Actually, yes." He cocked his head, knowing full well that his next words would send her over the edge, the moment he would act. "Has anyone ever told you how cute you are when you're angry?"

Hermione gaped at him, rocking back on her heels. What did he just say? CUTE? Was THAT all he had to say to the impossible position he manoeuvred her into? She was the main topic of school gossip because of him, Ron was beyond being angry and this evil Slytherin was … was _amused_? She saw it – in the hidden smirk of those lips and the dancing sparks in his smouldering silver eyes, watching her with growing intensity. This would have been a warning if she hadn't been so angry. But she was beyond angry, and so she ignored the fire in his eyes, yelling, "Cute? _Cute_? Shall I show you, how _cute_ I am, you self-loving, ignorant, arrogant, insolent …" Every word was punctuated with a blow on his chest.

She got no further, because all of sudden, he grasped her wrist, his other arm snaked around her waist and pulled her to him; her protesting squeal was cut short, as his lips captured hers, and she said no more. Taking full advantage of her astonishment, he deepened the kiss immediately, pushing his tongue between the two rows of her pearl-white teeth. It was like … like coming home, tasting that fresh sweetness again, mingled with something purely Hermione. His mind shut down, finally feeling this silken softness again – a softness that had haunted his dreams, that he'd denied himself far too long. He could feel her stiffen, and how her left hand pounded his shoulder, while she tried to pull her hand from his, but he held her tight, his long arm keeping her pressed into his body, no longer feeling his injuries. She started to wriggle, but he would have nothing of this. Releasing her wrist, he buried his hand in her mass of brown curls, while he kissed her as if there was no tomorrow.

And then, finally, her tongue was speaking another language, as it replied to his feverish demands. The moment she began to kiss him back, the last shred control flew away, and the hunger for her overwhelmed him. He didn't think of others' opinions if they learned what happened. He didn't care what his parents' Pureblood friends or Granger's friends would think if they ever found out. All what mattered was that he had this precious girl in his arms again – his forbidden fruit, his brave lioness, his sweet little Mudblood. A small whimper escaped her, as her arms finally slipped around him, and he devoured it.

Hermione was dizzy with the feelings he awoke in her. Again! The moment his mouth captured hers, she had gone rigid, her mind screaming _'No! __NoNoNo I can't! __It's not right! Ron! Think of Ron! He was right, you're cheating on him!'_ But then this voice had died away, as the Slytherin's talented tongue touched hers. It had sent a cascade of heat through her, unable to fight the urgent need he provoked in her. His taste and scent overwhelmed her senses, rendered her more helpless and weak than last night, as his body pressed against her had sent her feelings into a whirl of forbidden desire that had haunted even her dreams – like so many nights before after their duel and the crazed snogging afterwards.

She tried half-heartedly, one last time, to stop this insanity that had befallen them both, but in answer to her pushing away, he pulled her in an embrace she couldn't escape. Then he cupped her head with one hand, holding her firmly in place. It woke her resistance again for a moment, but to no avail. She wanted to run, to flee – and her fingers stilled on his arms. She wanted to rear up – and she snuggled closer to him. She wanted to strike him – and her arms slipped around him. Her own body was betraying her, and she could not fight it anymore.

All sanity fell away, as his demanding hot mouth conquered hers and drank in her breaths and whimpers, which seemed to come straight from her soul; her anger forgotten. She couldn't do anything else but cling to him and to surrender to his desire that found an echo in her. Heaven help her, but she _wanted_ this. She wanted _him_, and without realizing it her hands found their way beneath his vest. She sighed as her fingers felt the warmth of his smooth skin through the thin material of his shirt, his muscles flexed beneath the soft cotton. He groaned deep in his throat and then his left hand cupped one of her buttocks and pulled her tighter against him. Something hard and hot was pressed against her abdomen, and he shuddered.

The renewed rush of blood in his nether region drained his brain and lungs of oxygen. The need for breath forced him to release her mouth and gasp for air, but not wasting another second he started to explore her neck like he did those weeks ago after their duel, eliciting a moan from her, while she threw her head back to allow access. A soft outcry was torn from her swollen lips, as his right hand slipped beneath her jumper and glided along her bare spine, while he tenderly bit down on this sensitive spot beneath her ear, before he licked it. Gasping she closed her eyes, her legs almost gave in. Sweet Jesus, what was he doing to her – _with_ her? She couldn't think, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't move. She was more helpless than any stunning spell could make her as he fondled her neck and her back, while she felt the proof of his longing hard at her womb.

Freeing one of her hands from his clothes, she cupped his neck, her fingers slid into the soft silk of his hair. She heard him moan, as she pressed closer to him, her petite body fitting into his larger one. And as he suddenly encircled her waist with both hands and lifted her up, she instinctively wrapped her legs around him for support. She gasped again heat rushing through her whole being, while she grabbed his shoulder to steady herself.

His sharp intake of breath dragged her out of the fog in her brain. It wasn't an expression of passion, but of pain. She remembered that he was injured and … and her eyes found his face. His lips were pressed shut, while he groaned in his throat.

"I-I-I'm sorry … I'm sorry, Draco!" she panted and unhooked her legs from around him, sliding down his body to her feet, not realizing what she was doing to a certain part of his anatomy with this movement. "I'm so sorry!" she repeated, seeing she had obviously hurt his injuries, her hands went tentatively out to him. "Let me see," she whispered.

He took several deep breaths before he opened his eyes.

"Really, Kitten, you have a unique way of treating a guy," he whispered, pain mixed with lust in his hoarse voice.

"I-I-I didn't want to hurt you," she replied shakily, her face full of guilt. Ever so carefully she pealed the V-neck aside and unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it also aside, looking at his shoulder. She gave a little cry of shock when she saw the dark bruise where he hit the wall.

The pain was still on his face, though he chuckled: "Finally granting my wish?"

"W-what?" she stammered confused.

"Kiss them, make them better," he whispered, winking at her.

Hermione blushed and looked away. A soft chuckle from him, and she glanced back, saw the mixture of desire and tenderness in his stormy eyes. Another shiver ran through her body. Realizing that she was still holding his shirt and vest, she let go of the material and made as if to step back, but his arms stayed wrapped around her waist. Gulping, she stared at the anthracite-colored wool in front of her, to the point of the V. His nearness was transforming her knees into pudding, his warm breath and his scent were making her dizzy, and it was only when she felt his quick heart beat beneath her palms did she recognize that she had laid her hands on his chest.

"Look at me," he murmured, laying his forehead against hers.

She didn't dare. She knew what his eyes could and certainly _would_ do to her. She'd known it perfectly well since last night. Those amazing eyes, hard as granite, dark as the storm over a mountain, or bright as polished silver, were her undoing. His face could be a mask no one could read, but those eyes reveal the emotions behind that expression. They exposed what was in his soul, the soul she was increasingly drawn to as she learned about the complex person that was the true Draco Malfoy.

"Hermione…"

She could have wept. Hearing again her first name rolling from his tongue broke her resolve. Against her will, she looked up into his face, and her breath was stilled. She saw his aristocratic features only inches from hers, his breath on her skin, his soft lips hovering over hers. Oh, how she wanted to taste them again. She wanted to feel them on hers – those soft, sinful lips, that could voice the most cruel insults or could made her forget everything around her by simply touching her. She wet her own, and he groaned as he watched the tip of her tongue sneaking out, teasing him, as if it would dare him to catch it. The pain in his shoulder was forgotten, as he murmured: "Hell's bells, Granger! What did you do to me?"

His breath went unsteady again, as she whispered: "N-n-nothing. But what did you to me?" He didn't answer, only fixed her with a gaze that seemed to set her whole body afire. "I…" she swallowed. "I have a boyfriend…" She gasped as his grip around her tightened possessively and a low growl rumbled in his throat – a clear threat to anyone who would dare to step between them. "You and I have been enemies for years … but …" she continued, then gulped as one of his hands slid to her neck and his expression turned almost wild with guilt, denial, want, "but all I want right now is for you to kiss me again!" she breathed, speaking her secret wish she hadn't even admitted to herself until this moment.

That was all he needed to hear. His lips devoured hers again, while he pulled her against him again. And, to his delight, she snaked her arms around his hips and kissed him back, duelled with his tongue for dominance, melting against him as if to become one with him. And his whole being sang with joy ... and hunger. He didn't know when it was he'd picked her up and carried her to his sofa. All he knew was that she was now on the silver couch beneath him, her curls spread like a mane around her and that he was above her, taking care not to crush her, while his starving mouth and eager fingers were exploring as much as her clothes would allow.

A metallic banging outside the door and the irritated voice of the knight – "How often do I have to tell you people NOT to abuse my armour to request permission to enter!" – pierced the sexual haze of the young couple, and stunned, they both stopped. They heard someone give the password. Knowing they only had seconds, Draco did the first thing that came to mind. He jumped up, launched himself over the table between the sofas and threw himself on the other comfortable furniture, sprawling on it and closing his eyes as if asleep, swallowing a groan as his abused body reminded him of the night before. _Damn!_

Hermione, still foggy, stared at him, then she heard someone entering the common room and also curled up and closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep.

"Mr. Malfoy?" the tentative voice said. "Professor McGonagall sent me. I-"

Slughorn halted, seeing the two fast asleep, thinking they must have been sleeping awhile now. He closed the distance to the young man and shook him gently, conscious of his bruising. "Mr. Malfoy," he whispered. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but we wanted to let you know about our investigation concerning last night's attack."

Draco, whose heart was still thudding, let his eyes blink several times and shakily sat up. _By Slytherin's knobbly green wand, there really were times he wanted to hex Slughorn all the way to Avalon – like right now!_

The professor read an entirely different thought in the dark expression of the Head-Boy. "I know how upsetting this must be, but I ensure you that the headmistress and I are doing everything in our power to find out who it was."

Inwardly rolling his eyes, Malfoy lifted a brow. "So, no idea? No trace?" he asked in a muted voice.

"It might have been Malcolm Baddock and / or Claus Harper. But of course we have no proof, so I can only ask you to be aware when you're around them. The professors will watch them more closely, so it's possible they will give themselves away. Until then, please, no nocturnal patrols alone anymore, Draco." The old man fingered the fringe on his scarf. "And, um, try to avoid empty hallways?"

The concern on the aged features touched the Slytherin-Prince. He didn't like the garrulous professor all that much, but seeing the worry on Slughorn's face was … nice.

There! That proved it – he'd gone over the edge! He'd never used the word 'nice' before, never even thought it! He was going soft – and all because of this ... this ... lioness ...

Clearing his throat he whispered, "Thank you for coming, Professor."

Slughorn nodded, glancing toward the sleeping Hermione. "Had a full day, you two?" he asked good-naturedly.

Draco had to control his reaction, feeling his cheeks heating up. "Yeah, you could say that."

The teacher smiled understandingly. "Then I won't disturb you any longer. But don't let her miss dinner, if she doesn't awaken in time."

Malfoy only nodded, imagining already _how_ he would awaken her – or her passion again, until they both were undressed and… _'Whoa, hold it, Draco. Otherwise something that has started to come down comes up again, and then there is no way you can walk around without the whole school realizing what's happening to you!'_

"I will, Professor. Thank you for coming," he answered. Slughorn nodded and left the Head-Students' dormitory. And it was only as he reached the staircase that he realized what bothered him about their appearance: each was on the other's sofa. And … weren't young Malfoy lips somewhat swollen? And weren't their clothes in disarray?

He stopped as the light went on. He had interrupted something …

He chuckled. _'Well, well, there are changes afoot. The so-called 'Prince of Slytherin', declared hater of Muggle-borns, and the all-knowing 'Queen of Gryffindor', his favourite target, are now snogging secretly.' _He laughed to himself. _'At least they don't loathe each other anymore!' _He continued on his way, but halted once again as another thought popped into his head: _'Merlin's beard, maybe Malfoy's comment in the Great Hall meant more than we thought!'_

In the meantime, Hermione groaned and sat up, rubbing her burning face. She heard Malfoy's amused chuckle and peeked at him between her fingers. The sight of him made her tingle. He wore the most amused smile she ever saw, his tousled hair falling over his forehead, his eyes bright. Again she asked herself if he might have Veela-blood in him, no mortal male could be as attractive has he looked just now.

Draco watched her, highly amused, feeling almost as if his blood fizzed in his veins. "Granger, don't get your knickers in a twist. Slughorn doesn't suspect anything, so calm down."

She pressed her eyes shut once again. "We are the _Head-Students._ We have to be examples of responsibility and morality-" she began.

"And we are also of age, so no one will blame us for acting on our emotions," he gently interrupted her.

Hermione's heart still thudded under her blouse, her breath hitched in her throat, and she knew her cheeks were red as ripe apples as the full realization of the few last minutes hit her. She had been snogging with _Draco Malfoy_! She had kissed him _back_, clung to him, moved along him! And she had loved every minute of it! Sweet merciful holy Lamb of God, she must have lost her mind! When she finally collected the courage to look up at him again, her heart skipped when she saw the thoughtful smile on his reddened, sensual lips. His tousled silver blond hair caught the light of the flames in the fireplace. He was beautiful and…

_What? Beautiful! A male! _This was the proof – she had lost it completely.

Draco rose from the golden sofa and came to stand before her, looking down on her. He too watched the light in her curls, staining them red and gold. His fingers ached to bury themselves in her mane, but he knew she was too shaken at the moment, too vulnerable, and so he ... controlled himself. Unpracticed at this kind of consideration, this time it was almost natural to do so. _More changes ..._

Hermione fixed his eyes with hers. He was standing over her – dark, tempting, and she knew that she was close to doing something stupid: like wrapping her arms around him and giving him all of herself. Breathing deeply, she knew she had to stop this insanity before they'd gone too far. "Draco, look," she began uncertainly, "I-I-I don't know what is happening to us…"

"I have a pretty good idea," he interrupted with another suggestive smile that made her stomach flipflop.

Gulping she continued "A-a-and I can't deny that … that I feel … drawn to you more than I should because you're really quite appealing," she continued hastily, so that he almost didn't catch what she said. "But I have a boyfriend-"

"- who ignores you, accuses you of what you haven't done, and treats you very badly!" he cut in, quite pleased that she'd called him 'appealing'.

"You ... you and I are from rival houses, we've been opponents from the beginning and … and do you have the slightest idea what could happen here? What your parents would say?"

"Yes– but I do not care," he said without hesitation, new fire in his eyes. "I never gave a fig what others said about me and I'm not about to start now. Not when this feels so right – as insane as that sounds."

Hermione rubbed her forehead, her discomfort getting the better of her. "Listen, I … I'm not free. Yes, Ron and I haven't been communicating, but…" she caught her breath as his hand stroked her hair. It felt heavenly, but… she quickly stood up, which brought her nose to his throat. Frantically searching for something to distract him – and herself! – thought of ... nothing. Her mind had gone blank. She needed to get away from him, to sort herself out and get her mind back on track before this completely unreasonable and forbidden part of her acted on the daring proximity of the delicious young man in front of her.

"Letter!" It was a straw she grasped at. "I have to write the letter to my mother! And you to your father! And I have to get to the owlery before dinner and … Dinner! We only have a half an hour left and … Ginny! I promised her to help her with Ancient Runes and … Letter! First the letter!"

Draco smirked, watching her stumbling over the excuses she was so desperately searching for. So, the everso collected Hermione Granger could come apart at the seams. Interesting – and endearing! "You're rambling, Granger," he snickered, seeing her blush again. _'__Can a person live with all their blood in their face for so long?'_ he wondered.

"I'm n-n-not rambling," she stuttered, "I … I'm just reminding you that we have important things to do."

She could see in his gaze exactly what he considered important, for his eyes lingered greedily on her lips.

Hermione gulped. "Well… the letters! Owlery and… and Ginny waits for me, so excuse me and… well… See you!" She slipped away from him, not daring to glance up to his face again. And as she heard him laughing – this deep rich sound that made her heart flutter – she needed all her control not to whirl around and to rush back into his arms. Sweet Lord, she had fallen for him! She all but stormed to her room, desperate to gain some distance to him. And she pressed her hands anew at her flaming cheeks, as she heard his light laughter even through the thick wood of her door…

TBC…

_He-He… They are getting closer and closer. And within the next two chapters Draco will show how much his emotions are burning._

_I do hope you loved this chapter and the next step of our two for becoming a couple soon._

_Please, please leave some reviews,_

_Love you all,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	34. Jealously is a Poor Counselor

_Hallo, my dear Readers,_

_We have weekend and the next chapter is published. I don't want to tell you too much about it in advance, only that it will be very emotional._

_Have fun,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 32 – Jealously is a Poor Counselor**

Hermione made it to dinner just as the food appeared on the table, to avoid suspicion from the other students - especially Ginny. Nonetheless, she saw the questioning expression on her friend when their eyes met. She recognized that thoughtful look. She also felt oppressively guilty about Ron. Yes, they were having problems, but that happens to every couple. And turning to the arms of another was never right (even though that someone was a heavenly kisser [_she shouldn't know that!]_ and woke entirely new emotions in her.) But this other was also completely inappropriate, even if she wasn't 'with' Ron. Draco came from the Slytherin-house, he was their leader, her long time tormentor, someone who had made trouble for the school for the past seven years. But none of that mattered when he took her in his arms and kissed her as if she were the center of his life…

Hermione sighed, filled her glass with pumpkin juice and ate her dinner in silence. And meeting Ron's stare, she blushed, her guilt gnawing at her. He frowned and she knew that he could read her, knew that she was hiding something. She watched him glaring toward the other side of the Great Hall, searching for someone – she knew exactly who it was – and Ron narrowed his eyes, anger crackled around him like electricity. Hermione was certain that he would curse Malfoy to oblivion if he learned that the other had _thrice_ assaulted her with wild, hot kisses and even touched parts of her that Ron never had. She so looked forward to retreating somewhere quiet and peaceful to sort her through her whirling thoughts – and decide what to do concerning a certain Slytherin.

Never before had the Head-Girl welcomed the end of dinner so much, and she had to control the urge to flee back to her dorm, but when Ginny reminded her about homework concerning Ancient Runes, she had to stifle a moan.

With her stomach in a turmoil, Hermione accompanied her to the Gryffindor tower, and was relieved when her friend took her to the bedroom, making it impossible for the two boys to come with them. They were barely in the cozy room when Ginny closed the door. Hermione found her friend in her face, the blue eyes snapping.

"All right, Mione, spill!"

The other girl blinked. "Wh-wh-what?"

"You heard me, Granger, talk!" She raised her eyebrows, waiting expectantly. As the Head-Girl only looked at her helplessly, Ginny took her hand and pulled her onto the high, wide bed, casting a silencing charm about them and the door. "Mione, I know you and I'm not blind. You almost collapse with guilt whenever you look at my brother – who is being a complete moron, if you ask me. Your lips are still reddened, and you are practically glowing. And when I look over to the Slytherin house table, I see Draco Malfoy, completely lost in some happy thoughts, with the same glow." She pursed her lips. "Shall I continue?"

Hermione gulped and cast about for a plausible excuse. "You know that he humiliated me this morning in front of the whole school, and how angry I was … I _am_ with him! And-"

"Cut the crap, Sweety, you already gave yourself away: you '_was'_ angry with him," her friend smiled, shaking her head. "Let me guess." She rested one elbow on an arm, and tapped her chin, as if guessing. "He made up to you by … um, how shall I put this? By taking you in his strong arms, whispering an apology in your ear and then caught you in a mind-blowing kiss until you were both out of breath. And now you are filled with guilt because you are fiercely loyal, and your conscience is beating you up regarding my tacky brother, and another part of you wants to know what else you can expect from that luscious Head-Boy." She propped her hands on her hips. "Am I close?"

Hermione's face had reddened during the little speech so that it now matched Ginny's hair. She emphatically shook her head. "I … I just gave him my opinion about what he said in front of the whole school and…"

"Gave it to him?" Ginny repeated, chuckling. "I suspect the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest probably heard you. I saw what you were holding in during our meeting." She giggled, as Hermione's color slowly spread to the tips of her ears.

"All right, I yelled at him and he…" she rubbed her neck, "ugh, he thinks I'm _cute_ when I'm angry, which made me lose my temper …" She grew quiet and ducked her head.

"And he pulled you towards him, kissed you and then you kissed him back." Ginny's insight was uncanny. "And now you can't get him out of your head, and but you're wondering what's gotten into you." She shook her head. "Well, what finally stopped you?" she asked, laughing as she saw her friend seem to shrink before her.

"Slughorn," Hermione answered with a very tiny voice.

"_Slughorn_? You two were caught by _Slughorn_?"

"Almost," the Head-Girl murmured; cheeks afire. "He gave our password to the portrait and Draco threw himself on my sofa, and I curled up on his, and we both pretended to be asleep. And when Slughorn left, I…" she cupped her burning face with her hands, and Ginny finished for her.

"You fled."

Her silence and sagging shoulders were answer enough.

Ginny smiled. "Honey, you are in SO deep. Half of the female population in this school is drooling over Draco Malfoy and his new-found bravery and heroic demeanor, and where does he run to? You. He despised you for years, but now races to your rescue as soon as anyone looks at you cross-eyed. Unfortunately, you already have a boyfriend whose reaction to all this is sulking and insults."

Hermione pressed her eyes shut. She certainly didn't plan on sharing, but somehow the words just fell out of her overburdened heart. "Oh Ginny, I kissed him back – Draco I mean. At first I was furious, and then…" She moaned. "Ginny, I've lost my mind, getting involved with that damnable Albino Ferret, but I swear he is so… such … he's …" She fumbled, unaccustomed to being at a loss for words.

"Such a bloody good kisser?" her friend offered, concerned. It was only as Hermione nodded in response that she realized what she just admitted. Groaning she flopped back on the bed, looking at but not seeing the gold and burgundy velvet curtained roof. "I do love Ron, he's my heart, but just this moment…"

"Just this moment he is behaving like a complete idiot, accusing you of things you didn't do …"

"Kissing another man certainly isn't a sign of loyalty," Hermione mumbled, and her friend nodded and shrugged.

"Malfoy kissed you, not the other way around. So you can stop feeling so miserable about being disloyal. And speaking of kissing, it's not the end of the world. Ron will accuse you of flirting with Malfoy whether you do it or not."

Flinging an arm over her face, Hermione sighed, "But it isn't right!"

Ginny's eyes twinkled. "Well, mind and heart will always disagree when it comes to the emotional stuff. You are not the only one who's wrestled with her conscience in a situation like this. At least you've had a chance to wrestle with it, and he hasn't overwhelmed you with those legendary powers of seduction."

Granger sighed, "My mind tells me that I am behaving foolishly, and that I should put a great deal of distance between myself and Malfoy – as soon as possible."

The redhead looked down on her friend sympathetically. "And what does your heart say?"

Flinging her arm to the side, Hermione replied without another thought, "Pull Draco onto the nearest sofa and start another round of mindless, sweaty snogging!" A moment later, she listened to her words, and stared at Ginny; her eyes growing wider. "I-I didn't say that, did I?" she pleaded, and as her friend dissolved in laughter, she rolled into a ball and closed her eyes. "I am so dead!"

When Ginny caught her breath, she told the other, "I'm _sure_ he's having the same problems as you, only without a jealous girlfriend on his back." She chuckled. "He must be _so _messed up about this: you, a Gryffindor, best friend of his two long-time enemies, and above all, a _Muggle_-born!" She saw the horrified expression on Hermione's face and added with a giggle, "You are under his skin, Sweetie, take that to the bank. He might not say it, after all he is a Slytherin, but he's got it - bad."

With a groan that sounded something like a howl, the Head Girl covered her head with her arms. "Harry and Ron are going to kill me!"

Still giggling, Ginny squeezed her friend's hand. "Harry won't judge you. He'll stay out of it as long as our Slytherin doesn't hurt you. He only wants you to be happy, this I know. And about my brother, if he loses you to Malfoy, it's his own fault. He's certainly not acting in a manner that would attract or retain a girl's affection."

Hermione sat up and looked at her friend; her face still deep red. "And what do _you_ think of this … this madness?"

The half-smile was very sympathetic. "If you want this … to continue, proceed with caution."

"Ginny!" Hermione gasped. "Are you trying to tell me I should betray _your brother_?"

"No, I'm telling you to do what is right," she told her, her voice matter-of-fact. "If it's right to wait patiently until Ron decides to end his little snit – and we both know how stubborn he can be, so it will certainly be a good while – then do it. But if this extraordinary opportunity has been made available for a reason, then explore a relationship with our Head-Boy." Her tone grew softer when she saw the concerned look of her friend, recognizing the reason for it. "Don't worry, Mione, no matter which way things go, I'll be here for you. Maybe you'll find out that this thing between you and my brother wasn't meant to be, and Malfoy – who is your equal in many ways, I might add – is the one who makes the better partner. But maybe it'll turn out that a relationship with him is wrong. Who can tell? Certainly not I. But one thing I can tell you: whatever you're going to do – exploring possibilities with the Ferret, waiting for my brother to come to his senses again, or neither – I will stand by you. And I am certain Harry sees it the same way." She took Hermione's hand again and gave it another friendly squeeze. "We are your friends, Mione, brother and sister to you, and we will always love you, even if you take another direction."

The brown eyes filled with tears. "So… you wouldn't condemn me if – and it is really a very, very big _IF_ – I give in to Draco and… and…" she blushed again, especially at Ginny's next words.

"And have an affair with the Slytherin?" She sighed, as Hermione's cheeks were set afire again. "No, Mione, I wouldn't condemn you. Malfoy has changed, for the better, I hasten to add. He protected you, saved you, he stood up for you against his own house, he looks after you – what more could I wish for a friend than to be with someone who values her so thoroughly? Though I would never recommend physical intimacy."

Hermione buried her face in the comforter, mumbling: "The Lord must love me since he gave me such good friends."

Ginny chuckled. "You know He does, Honey. Friends should stay together, no matter what. And a relationship with a good-looking guy is no reason to turn away from a friend."

"I do hope Harry is as lenient in his assessment as you," Hermione whispered, peering up to her, "_i__f_ things ever got that far."

Ginny sat thoughtfully, looking out the window. "It's my guess he might be shocked at first, then he would lecture Malfoy to treat you like a goddess, or else he could start digging his own grave, then he would talk to you just like I am now, and then, weeks later, he would accept your decision."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Please, don't tell him about Malfoy's answer to my scolding today and… and that… that I want him." Her voice was barely above a whisper. She gulped. "I am messed up enough about Ron being so angry, and my most unwelcome visceral reaction to Draco. Ron has every right to be jealous, but still…" She shrugged.

Ginny smiled. "Not a word of this leaves this room. If anything happens, then it's up to you to tell Harry about it or not." She cocked her head. "But one thing you must promise me,: _if_ the Ferret Prince becomes all that in your life, I'm the one you run to and tell about it!" she added. Hermione rolled over; groaning loudly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The weekend passed without a response from the Malfoys or the Grangers. No surprise, since Lucius Malfoy and Dr. Granger would have some digging to do. Monday and Tuesday passed in a blur, their material was becoming more difficult, and they would have much to learn before the next tests in two weeks in Arithmancy, Astronomy and Ancient Runes. Defence Against the Dark Arts was also more difficult now, as Abdelghani had begun to teach them advanced counter spells and shielding charms. In addition, he followed up on his promise to teach them wandless magic, sometimes with comical results, like wands flung through the air and striking portraits (portrait subjects had learned to leave the room to visit other acquaintances at the beginning of class), flapping books and a candelabra jumping through the room, making deafening metallic sounds the whole time. The last class before lunch Wednesday was Charms. By then, most students' heads were spinning.

Hermione's head was buzzing, too, as she finally walked to her dormitory to drop off her heavy school bag, before heading to the Great Hall for lunch. It was then that Malfoy also dropped by, looking as groggy as she was.

"And here I thought the first months would only be a repeat!" he groaned, hurling his bag on his sofa. They had DADA together, but Malfoy remained behind for a short chat with two other Slytherins. And, it seemed, the last class before midday had been difficult for him, too.

Hermione gave him a quick smile. She was uneasy around him since the episode on the ottoman, but since he hadn't referred to it, she was grateful. She needed time to think, to sort through her jumbled feelings, and she couldn't have handled any pressure from him right now. But, oddly, the usually arrogant Slytherin, who had never accepted things not going his way, showed her a patience and understanding she had never given him credit for. And this actually drew her to him – which he instinctively knew. One time, brushing her in passing, another watching her with a smile, other times he teased her gently, eyes sparkling, another time he would tug a curl, winking at her. And those small gestures were piquing her interest to new levels.

Realizing that their class material was obviously new to him, too, she shoved aside her forbidden thoughts yet again, asking, "Why did you choose to repeat this year?"

He lifted a brow in amusement. "Always asking questions, aren't you?" She shrugged, the tiny smile remained. "Well, I didn't learn enough last year to pass my N.E.W.T.s, and without a full graduation, I can skip any ambitions at a career," he answered, loosening his tie.

"You didn't get to class?" she asked, not understanding. "But … you were in Hogwarts last year."

"Before Christmas, yes, but about that time, Voldemort summoned many of us to his presence, sometimes for days. Late winter and early spring I was more at the manor than in school." He sighed, pushing his hands in his pockets. "I talked with my father about it. He said that, if Voldemort won, I didn't need to worry about my career, and if Voldemort lost, I would never have one." He rolled his shoulders, sighing as he remembered those times, when his father often drowned his frustrations and fears in alcohol, unravelling a bit more at every turn, by the spring equinox barely recognizable as the noble Lord he once had been. Draco was grateful that his father had found himself once again before he was lost to the cursed effect of the alcohol, and was even now drawing himself out of the abyss. His father still struggled to find his way in this new world, but Draco also knew how strong Lucius was, and had faith in him.

He saw Hermione still looking at him, and took a deep breath, remembering her question. "It seems my father was wrong in his estimate of my situation. I was welcomed back at school after I was dismissed from my trial along with my family." He grimaced. "Well, the Ministry thought it a good idea to send me back to Hogwarts, probably because they knew I could be controlled or observed here. And McGonagall thought it the perfect opportunity to prove to those who rebelled against Voldemort that your side was ready to trust them, or invite them back to the wizarding community, or whatever, by making me Head-Boy. It seems," he sighed, "that I am a valuable political commodity." He shrugged, then grinned suddenly. "Or she just wanted to give _you_ a new challenge! What _did_ you do to piss her off so much that she gave me to you as your Head-partner?"

Hermione had to laugh at this, surprised that he could joke about himself. "I can't remember ever doing anything _that_ awful." They both laughed to find, after everything that had transpired, that their old enmity had somehow come to an end. Then Hermione's curiosity kicked in again. "What is this ambition of yours?"

He chuckled. "My, my, and after you learned all the secrets in the world, will you finally be at peace?" he teased. His stomach growled, and pink crept into his cheeks. "You coming? I'm starved."

"Hmm. A simple 'mind your own business, Hermione,' would suffice," she teased, and followed him, grinning as he rolled his eyes. They didn't even notice that they walked together to the Great Hall.

Draco turned the question around. "Do you hope to return to Hogwarts to teach here?" he sounded genuinely interested.

Hermione shrugged. "I don't think so. When I try and picture myself standing in front of a class and teaching…" She grimaced. "It feels, well, unfamiliar, awkward."

Drawing the knot of his tie upward once again and straightening his collar (damned tie! he really hated wearing them) Malfoy lifted both brows. "And I was sure you would love to teach." When he saw her surprised expression, he counted on his fingers: "You love books, you've absorbed most of the library, you're a very accomplished witch—the 'cleverest witch of our age', and you're patient with your knowledge. I just thought you'd love to become a teacher here someday."

Hermione smiled, surprised that he seemed to have given thoughts to her future. "Well, I do love Hogwarts, but… I want to do something more important. I want to help, but also I want to make this world a better place, take what's wrong and make them right, things that are important but rarely seen."

"The house elves," he mused and groaned when she nodded.

"Yes, them and other magical creatures who are treated unfairly. I want to help them. If laws must be changed, so be it." She poked him with her index finger. "And don't you dare laugh about it, Draco Malfoy. You know it isn't right to treat house elves like dirt."

He lifted both hands. "I surrender, little Gryffindor." He chuckled, seeing her relax into a smile, glad they were so comfortable around each other. "So," he continued, "you want to work at the Ministry." She nodded. "Yeah, that fits." She looked at him. "All those facts, figures and formulas up there shouldn't be wasted." He tapped her temple.

Giggling she dodged him, smacking him playfully on the arm that was now healed, and he laughed. Unfortunate, as they had just reached the entrance to the Great Hall, and the noises from the dining room gradually faded. Looking up, they faced dozens of surprised expressions. Clearing his throat, Draco straightened and mumbled, "See you around, Granger."

"Same here!" Hermione replied, blushing under all the attention, and walked up to the Gryffindor-table, ignoring the whispers and many, many curious glances – and the dark expression of Ron.

Ginny smiled at her knowingly. "Hi, Mione. Are you as whacked as I after the last DADA?"

Hermione moaned. "Ugh, my brain is tired. I swear, if Binns is going to ramble any more dates this afternoon, my head will implode. My mind is already fuzzy enough without shoving a lot of new information in there."

"That explains a lot," Ron growled, his face grim. Harry shot him a glare, but he continued: "Maybe the seventh year has finally taken its toll, because you clearly have a problem." He tapped his head.

Carefully setting down her glass, Hermione frowned. "That wasn't funny, Ron!" she told him sternly.

"Now you're even flirting with _him_ in _public_. You should be ashamed!" he said softly between clenched teeth.

Taken aback, she blinked, then found her tongue again. "I should be ashamed? _I_? Who is the one behaving badly, Ron Weasley? You accuse me of things I never did!" – _'Well, not until Friday afternoon,'_ as a tiny voice in her whispered, but she chose to ignore it. "You refuse to listen to me, repeatedly insult me, and have the nerve to judge every one of my movements by your own standards." Her voice was growing louder, eyes shooting daggers in his direction. By Merlin's purple knickers, she might not even be attracted to Malfoy if Ron hadn't started to act as if she were a criminal!

"Not accusing, just observing," he snarled, ignoring his sister's glare. "You defend that pillock, help him every chance you get. Friday morning you stood hand in hand with him over there with McGonagall, close enough to kiss you. Just right now you two came in acting like love birds. It makes me sick!" His own voice was rising now.

Her face was growing red, but not from guilt. Ron didn't know the half of what was happening, but he was already creating a scene, heading straight into the offensive. "It makes you sick that I get along with Malfoy?" she hissed. "It makes you sick that I managed to get along with him and cooperate with him as Head-Student?"

The blue eyes narrowed. "It makes me sick that this slimy Slytherin touches you, and it makes me sick watching you joking and flirting with the very same git who taunted you and hurt you for years!" he yelled, his control falling away.

"Ron! Enough!" Harry snapped, realizing that it had grown quiet in the Great Hall again – and that his friend was going to be in so much trouble if he didn't stop now. Most of the teachers were not here yet, only Professor Sprout and Professor Trelawany, and both weren't known for being stern, but Ron shouldn't press his luck. Even Sprout could get quite angry, as he clearly remembered.

"Yes, enough!" the red haired young wizard retorted, throwing his spoon on the table. "The blokes that brat over their worked with _killed one of my brothers_, disfigured another, and burned our house down! And now _my own girlfriend_ is holding hands with one of these bastards who brought nothing but sorrow over our entire community, and are _still _hunting my parents like animals. And I'm the one who should shut it?"

"It's nothing like that, Ronald," Hermione tried her best to keep her voice down, but she felt tears rising and anger pulling at her own control. This was so unfair, so completely out of place. Draco had no part in Fred's death nor in the attack of the Burrow or on Bill. He wasn't out there forcing the Weasleys to hide, but had to fear for his own parents' lives, exactly like Ron did for his.

Harry was growing alarmed and started to rise. "Ron, _stop it_! You're harassing Hermione-"

His friend didn't even hear him. "Do you think I'm blind, Hermione?" He jumped up, fists balled. "LAST FRIDAY YOU TWO WERE ARM IN ARM, AND JUST NOW I SAW YOU FLIRTING WITH EACH OTHER, _HIS_ HAND IN _YOUR_ HAIR! Don't you DARE LIE to me now!" His voice was loud enough to be heard by the main entrance.

"They were joking with each other, you moron, and now sit down and let Hermione alone!" Ginny hissed at him, just as angry as he was. She had to calm him down, or disaster loomed in the form of the Head-Boy, who had risen and was staring with furious eyes at her brother. And she was certain, if it not Abdel and Patrick who were physically holding him back, he certainly would leap over to the Gryffindor-table. And he looked ready to kill.

Ginny was right. The instant Ron began shouting at Hermione, who visibly trembled, an uncontrollable fury awoke in Malfoy. He was on his feet without a thought, hand gripping the wand tight enough to almost snap it, when strong fingers curled around his wrist. "Don't interfere, Draco! It doesn't concern us!" Patrick hissed at him. The gleaming eyes of his house mate turned toward him, and he knew that most Slytherins at the table were watching them, and that the leader of their house was on the verge of destroying his reputation if he stormed off to help that ridiculous bookworm again.

Abdel, on the other side of the Head-Boy, also took his arm, but for other reasons. "Stay here, Draco, you will only make it worse," he advised. "Weasley is about to lose his mind without your help."

Malfoy wasn't listening. His blood was boiling. He couldn't understand Granger's words to the damn Weasel-bee, but when he accused her of lying, Draco's control tanked. With a harsh jerk he freed himself, stepped out of the bench and strode down the hall, not listening to Patrick or the whispers of his house mates. His ire was drumming behind his temples and racing like fiendfyre through his veins, while his gaze was locked on the curls of his Head-partner and her shaking shoulders. He didn't see Madame Sprout coming down from the teachers' table towards them, and he didn't see the warning glance Ginny Weasley was giving him. All he saw was the trembling form of his little lioness and the snarling, accusing face of Ronald Weasley, still yelling, "Don't you have any shame? Don't you-?"

"_SILENCIO_!"

The spell hit Ron full in the face and shut him up properly. Shocked gasps sounded throughout the hall, and not a few startled screams. Harry shot up from his seat and whirled around, his wand ready. He stared, baffled, at the tall figure of the Slytherin-Prince, who came to a halt directly behind a silent weeping Hermione. Malfoy's normally pale visage was pink, his eyes were a dark stormy grey, and his expression would have frightened most grownups.

Ron overcame his surprise quickly, raising his wand. He wasn't as good in non-verbal spells as Hermione, but he was skilled enough to use some of them. He didn't get far, as the next one made him immobile: "_PETRFICUS TOTALES_!"

Weasley dropped onto the bench, completely immobile. Harry grabbed Draco in a flash, gripping his right arm. "No, Malfoy, you'll make it worse!" he said quietly, surprised by the Head-Boy's sudden appearance and even more flabbergasted by the Slytherin's obvious fury, directed at Ron. A quick look towards Hermione showed him that Draco had put his free hand on her shoulder, a silver panther, ready to strike, to defend the girl from further attack.

Professor Sprout finally reached them, wheezing. "Mr. Weasley! Mr. Malfoy! Stop it! Mr. Potter, step back NOW," she huffed, her round eyes betraying her shock.

Draco jerked his wrist out of Harry's grip, shaking with fury, while the fingers of his other hand curled reassuring around Hermione's trembling shoulder. "Don't you dare hurt Granger any more, Weasley! She's done nothing wrong, so shut your gob!" he shouted, addressing Ron. The Great Hall had grown silent. You could have heard the proverbial pin hitting the floor, while many students had stood, as well, to get a better look at the events at the Gryffindor-table. "You're accusing her of things she didn't do. We get along! We joke with each other! We talk and work together! Big wonking deal! And do you know why? Because we both grew up and started to act like adults should, unlike you!"

"Mr. Malfoy, that's quite enough!" Professor Sprout stared at both young men and shook angrily her short curls. "One more word, gentlemen, and I will most surely hold you both in Detention for the rest of the year!" She flicked her wand and the spells were lifted from Ron, who immediately got back on his feet; his chest heaving with unspoken retorts.

"All due respect, Professor, but Weasley has hurt the Head-Girl to the core," Draco growled; pulling Hermione gently towards him.

She whispered weakly: "Please, stop it. Both of you." She was glad as Ginny reached over the table and took one of her hands, squeezing it. The Weasley-daughter had known that this kind of confrontation would come sooner or later, but that it happened _before_ Hermione's relationship with Malfoy even got serious was unexpected. Ginevra knew that it would drive her friend into the arms of the Slytherin – literally. The protective gesture of Malfoy was almost an embrace, anyone could tell that.

Draco was not finished. He addressed Sprout, "You must make certain that this _child_ is not allowed to take out his frustration and jealousy on the Head-Girl!" His tone was barely civil toward the stout little woman.

For a moment the Herbology professor was lost for words, as the piercing grey eyes of the Head-Boy fixed hers. Then she swallowed. _The young man was right, but still…_

Ron snorted. "You tell _me_ to stop hurting her? That's rich, coming from_ you_, you cruel bastard! I don't know what you did to mess with her head like this, Malfoy, but sure as tomorrow's sun rises, I will find out and make you pay! And STOP TOUCHING HER!" he roared, pointing at Draco's arm, almost wrapped around Hermione. Harry looked back at the protective gesture, then again to the impending combat; pushing the whirling thoughts concerning what Malfoy's gesture indicated aside.

"Mr. Weasley!" Madame Sprout snapped, exasperated. "You will stop this behaviour this instant!"

Ron stared at the Professor, pointing at Hermione. "He obviously hexed her, Professor, and _I'm accused of bad behaviour_?"

"Mind your tone, young man! You're forgetting, to whom you're speaking!" Sprout was outraged; her usually mild expression darkened. It took a lot to get the gentle woman mad, but now she was almost there.

"Stop it, Ronald!" Hermione's voice was thick with tears, but her own temper was finally flaring. "We have to talk, but not like this. You're getting all worked up about things that aren't true." She felt Draco stiffen beside her, but she was too troubled to care.

"What isn't true? You tell me this while you're PRACTICALLY IN HIS ARMS?"

"Ron, STOP IT!" Harry exploded, stepping between the steaming Head-Boy, the silent weeping girl, who was very dear to him, and his friend. "For pity's sake, Hermione and Draco are simply acting like associates and you flip? It's her choice who to trust, and she's not required to explain herself to anyone. Even not to you! She's her own person, Ron, not your property. So stop moping around because she's making her own decisions without asking your permission!"

Even if Harry's little speech had impacted the red fog surrounding Ron, he was far too angry to allow his friend's logic to penetrate. "Do you think I will let her get hurt?" he hollered, feeling misunderstood. "If she is stupid enough to fall for this bastard's trick, so be it, but I certainly will not stand by-"

"Ron, _enough_!" Ginny was beyond being furious with her brother now. "Malfoy didn't do anything wrong, and neither did Hermione." – _'Until now!'_ she added in her mind. "They simply aren't enemies anymore! Can't you get it into your pig head!"

"After all HE DID TO HER? Are you daft?"

"It's Hermione's decision, if she trusts Draco enough to lay aside the past. You're driving her to him, can't you tell?" Ginny yelled, her large eyes on fire. She didn't realize that she gave away more than necessary with these words, but she didn't care just this moment. All that mattered was her friend, who looked slightly unhinged, her face tear-streaked, staring at nothing, and the young man behind her like a pillar of strength. And for this she almost admired Malfoy. She felt in her heart that there were plenty of students who could learn a lot from him now.

Slughorn chose this moment to enter the hall, alerted by the shouting he heard as he left his office in the dungeons. One look he took in the scene in front of him: Hermione sobbing, Ginny outraged, Harry standing between a furious Draco and a screaming Ron. _'__School drama'_, he thought. Since his visit Friday, Slughorn knew that a romance was unfolding between the two Head-Students, which had to be the reason for young Weasley losing his temper. Quickly Horace headed towards the argument that was getting out of hand, ready to use drastic methods to keep it from escalating, before someone got hurt.

Ron bent toward Hermione, having extrapolated enough from of his sister's words to put two and two together. "Then go to him!" he spat. "Go to the creep who watched you tortured. But don't come crawling back to me when this loser drops you like a hot potato, after he gets what he obviously wants from you! You deserve whatever he -"

_SMACK._

The slap echoed off the walls of the silent hall, and Ron stumbled back from the force, almost tripping over the bench behind him, the perfect image of Hermione's handprint already showing on his face, eliciting a triumphant smirk from Draco. He knew exactly how hard the little witch could hit.

"Don't you dare to tell me what to do and what not to do, Ronald Bilius Weasley!" Hermione screamed; her shock and hurt now transformed into rage. "I wasn't the one who ran off and let his friends down last year! I am not the one who's trying to run other's lives, or sulks, when things aren't going the way I want. And Draco wasn't the one who killed Fred or attacked Bill, and he certainly didn't set your family's house afire or attack your father two and a half years ago. But you're blind in your hate. You're not acting any better than those miserable idiots who almost tore our world apart, because _they_ were blinded by their hate just like _you_ are now!" She jumped up, throwing off Malfoy's hand. "Don't talk to me again until you're over whatever has gotten into you, and you have apologized! Do you hear me? DON'T COME NEAR ME AGAIN!"

She stepped over of the bench and stormed off, nearly knocking over Slughorn in the process, and rushed out of the Great Hall.

Silence lingered.

"Nicely done, Ron!" Ginny told him. "Hermione has done nothing wrong. You've hurt her by betraying her trust in you and by berating her like this _in public_!" she snarled. Then she looked straight at Malfoy, who seemed barely holding it together, but also shocked by the violent outburst of the girl who just left. "I'm fine with the fact that you and Mione are getting along, Draco!" she said, her clear sharp voice sounded around the hall. "It was about time, because you both are intelligent and responsible adults. And you've both done a much better job than my brother here, looking past the barriers of different houses and the past, unlike HIM!" She glared back at Ron. The rest of the students saw that the action was pretty much over, and the noise, whispering, laughter, and gossip started up with a roar.

Ginny turned towards her brother, her voice an angry growl. "Come off it, Ron, or you'll lose her! I could understand if she turned away from you and toward Draco. He at least treats her like she deserves! And I'm really, really glad that Harry has never acted like YOU." She stepped away from the table, addressing Harry. "Excuse me, love. I have to look for my friend and try to make up for this sorry excuse of a brother!"

She whirled around and strolled away, her fiery red hair bouncing behind her.

Slughorn exchanged a quick glance with Madame Sprout, who leaned her fists on the table, fixing Ron with her eyes. "Young man, I do think a talk with the headmistress is in order! Your actions over the last few minutes are enough reason to get in a _lot_ of trouble!"

"He is messing with her mind!" Weasley growled stubbornly, pointing at Malfoy, who took a deep breath, but Harry squeezed his arm and pulled him down to sit with him on the bench. "Don't!" he murmured, looking up at Malfoy. "You can't talk with him he's like this."

"Maybe this will cool him down then!" Draco hissed, and flicked his wand. The next moment a stream of icy water struck Ron, who yelped in shock.

"Mr. Malfoy!"

Slughorn gasped, but was interrupted by the Prince of Slytherin, who coldly stated: "Four weeks Detention from Monday to Saturday for threatening the Head-Girl! Two more weeks for manhandling and insulting her! And two more weeks for spreading lies about fellow students in public!" he told Ron firmly.

Gasps were heard up and down the table. This was certainly the longest Detention a senior student had ever given a school mate.

Harry groaned. "Not Saturdays, too, Malfoy! We have our first game in a week and a half!"

Draco stared at him. "Do I look as if I care?"

Harry fixed him with his own icy stare. "Is this how you weaken our chance at the Quidditch cup?"

The two Quidditch captains glared at each other. Malfoy snorted: "As if we would need such an advantage." He jerked his head toward Ron. "If he has truly apologized to Granger before your game takes place, he is off for this one Saturday. The rest of the time, he can take this opportunity to think about his behaviour."

Many wondered - was Draco Malfoy acting _noble_?

The Head-Boy addressed Ron again: "Be glad that Madame Sprout is the one reporting you to Professor McGonagall! You wouldn't want me to tell her all I could about this incident!" He spoke to the rest of the Gryffindors. "And I only take no points from Gryffindor, because it would be more than unfair to punish a whole house for the private jealousy of one thick-headed little boy, still wet behind the ears, even if he is of age!"

He glared at his opponent, growing calm again as he realized that (a) McGonagall stood beside him and (b) that rumours about him and Hermione would spread quicker than smoke on a high wind through the school. And he also knew what his house mates would now be certain he'd gone 'over the edge'. Maybe he had. He hadn't only stood up for Granger – again – no, this time he protected her honour in front of the entire school. He wished he could find her, hold her. He didn't care what the others would say or think about him. Not anymore. His girl had been hurt and he wanted to find her and to make sure that she was okay – and it felt far too right to ignore anymore.

He couldn't know that one of his house mates realized the reason far better than he did. Patrick stared him, and exchanged glances with a very thoughtful Abdel, who softly voiced what many other students were thinking.

"He's in love with her!"

TBC…

_So, my dear Readers, that Ron would snap soon was obvious, wasn't it? And it's not over now, there comes some sweet scenes in the next chapter…_

_Please, please leave some reviews and tell me, what you think of this chapter (that wasn't so easy to write)._

_Have a nice weekend,_

_Love you all,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	35. What Comes After

_Hallo, my dear Readers!_

_Thank you so, so much for all the nice reviews and I'm happy to realize some new people among them. I'm glad that my story draws more and more attention. _

_Just a short information for Carminare: regarding the dress Hermione bought shortly before the raid of Hogsmeade there will come more of it – several chapters later. And I'm certain that it will lead to things you all will love to read (laugh)._

_After Ron's bad behaviour Hermione is, of course, crestfallen, but she isn't alone and Ron is going to get a sort of punishment, whole Hogwarts is going to speak of for years._

_So I wish you fun with the next chapter,_

_Love you all,_

_Happy Eastern_

_Y__ours Lywhn_

**Chapter 34 – What Comes After**

Ginny ran through the Entrance Hall, already knowing where her friend had run. A tall straight figure was coming down the stairs. "Miss Weasley, what's going on in there? Sir Nicholas said there was an ugly argument."

Ginny was a Prefect, and always treated the professors with respect, but just now she had no time for the headmistress. Her friend needed her. "My brother is a fool, Professor!" she hissed. "Excuse me, I have to find Hermione. Professors Slughorn and Sprout are there already!" She jogged backwards, still addressing the headmistress. "And please," she called, "write a hard letter to our parents. He deserves the loudest Howler in Hogwarts' history!" With those words she turned around and darted away, leaving a puzzled Minerva McGonagall, who shook her head. _Young people today…_

Ginny found her friend easily, the sound of muffled sobs leading the way. Hermione had run the whole way to the Black Lake and sat at the shore now, her arms wrapped around her knees, her face buried there. The squid was close to the edge of the lake, and touched her carefully, as if attempting to comfort her. Again Ginny wondered what and who this enormous but so-gentle creature was, then her attention was drawn back to her friend.

Stopping beside her, watching Hermione for several seconds as the other wept as if her heart were bleeding. Then Ginny sat down beside her and wrapped her in a tight embrace. Instead of pulling herself together, Hermione simply sank against her friend and cried even harder. Ginny held back her own tears, the heart-wrenching sobs were touching her very soul, while she rubbed her hand over Hermione's back.

"Sh-sh, Mione, my brother is an idiot. We've always known it, but we never saw him act so badly before." She laid her cheek against the unruly curls and held her even more firmly. "Don't cry, Mione, he isn't worth it."

It was several long moments before Hermione could replay. "It hurts so much," she sniffled. "I … I know that it looks like Draco and I are growing close, but…"

"You two _are_ growing close, and that's alright," Ginny said gently. "And after seeing Harry's reaction today, I think he will be okay with it, too. After all, Malfoy confronted Ron in front of the whole school to defend you. I think that says quite a lot." She rubbed Hermione's back again. "I think it's kind of sweet."

The Head Girl choked another sob. "B-b-but Ron is right in a way. I d-d-did betray him by k-k-kissing Draco back, and-"

"He doesn't even _know_ about that, Mione, yet still he shouts at you like a madman," Ginevra interrupted her again. "From what he knows, he has no right to accuse you of anything."

Hermione lifted her head, her eyes dark with pain. "But we are a couple-"

"If _my_ boyfriend treated me like that, I would _dump_ him. Immediately. I thank Heaven that Harry isn't the kind of man who yells first and then thinks if he should. And, by the way, Ron is too easily offended. He takes things the wrong way, pushing others away with it. You know this by now. And maybe you should reconsider your relationship with him." She met Hermione's shocked expression, and continued softly, "Don't get me wrong, I would love to have you as my sister-in-law someday, but right now, Ron is not mature enough for you. You outclass him in many ways and he feels that. Maybe that's why he's acting so badly. He knows that Malfoy suits you more than he does. Besides, Ron always was the jealous type, and I don't think that will change. He thinks you are his, and he doesn't want to share you with anyone, except us, meaning Harry and me, because he knows that Harry sees you as a sister. But this is all he will allow." She smiled crookedly, remembering. "Harry wouldn't say anything to me about how he liked me for a long time because he was afraid Ron would object."

Hermione gulped and nodded, while she kept her eyes closed, trying to calm down; seeing the truth in Ginny's words. Harry told her last year that Ron thought she might have become Harry's girlfriend, which was and would be ever utter nonsense. Harry and she had never been more - or less - than very good friends, but Ron had suddenly gotten the idea that this had changed. Slytherin's medallion, the one containing Voldemort's horcrux, had messed with his mind whenever Ron wore it, making him angrier and more frustrated hour by hour. It finally led to the awful fight between himself and Harry, but Hermione was sure that whatever consciousness the medallion held had descried what he was secretly thinking and feeling. Yes, he finally returned, saving Harry from drowning in that wintry pond, but their friendship had been tense for days afterwards, and seemed to find its way back after they had been captured by the snatchers. And still it irked her that Ron had been so selfish, beginning with complaints that she'd packed his wrong jeans (as if they hadn't been running for their lives!), complained whenever he was hungry (as if she and Harry weren't just as hungry) and ended with him running away, leaving them to their fate, not knowing if he would ever see them again. Yes, he had tried to return immediately after, but still Hermione was annoyed by the whole unpalatable episode.

And now he had shouted at her because she was getting along with another man. She suddenly saw that, if Ron only saw her as his chattel, then this relationship wasn't right.

_If they even had a relationship, after what happened in the Great Hall_. She was certain she didn't want to see him, didn't want to talk to him, didn't want to even be near him. Just thinking about it tore at her heart. If he had as little trust in her as he showed at Halloween, when she really hadn't done anything wrong, then they had no future. She'd loved him for years now. The crush she'd felt for him early on had changed into a deep and warm affection, but, as she suddenly realized, it lacked something. This heat she had felt during those fateful minutes after her duel with Malfoy or at last Friday afternoon wasn't there whenever she kissed Ron.

Draco Malfoy… He hadn't done anything nasty or hurtful towards her, but had stood up for her – again! In front of the _whole school_. And if she hadn't been so desperate in her pain, she certainly would have thought more closely about it. But right this moment, all she could do was break into new tears.

The minutes ticked by and Ginny knew that class had begun, but she wouldn't leave Hermione in this state. And she certainly wouldn't bring up schoolwork either. Her friend was in no shape to face the rest.

Footsteps neared, and as Ginny turned around, her eyes grew wide. Draco approached, robes billowing behind him in the cold wind, perfect hair mussed by the weather. The chilled temperature had added some colour to his face, still pink with anger. His eyes softened the moment they fell on the puddle of misery that was Hermione just now.

"Granger?" he softly addressed his Head-partner, placing a warm hand on the girl's back, as she looked up with tear-swollen eyes. "Are you all right?" _'__Stupid question! Of course she isn't 'all right'_._' _The pain in her eyes stabbed his heart. "I mean, how bad is it?"

Hermione hiccupped and wiped her cheeks, and finally shrugged. Ginny looked up at the tall Slytherin and asked: "Did McGonagall give my brother what he deserves? I met her outside the Great Hall."

Draco scoffed. "I gave him eight weeks Detention. I expect our headmistress will add some further duties." He met their astonished glances.

"_Eight_ weeks?" Ginny challenged, and grinned suddenly. "Well done!"

Hermione sniffled and looked up into the face of her partner, only making out a blur, feeling some of the anguish leaving her, the same way her terror had departed during the raid of Hogsmeade, when he took her in his arms after they got away from Greyback. "Th-thank you for your help," she whispered and closed her eyes.

He cupped her wet face with one hand, stroking the tears away with the thumb. "You're welcome, Kitten!" he whispered back, amazed how her sorrow moved him. He hated seeing her like this, and he crouched down in front of her, offered her his handkerchief. The concern on his face made Ginny wonder how deeply the Slytherin really cared for her friend. Then, on the other hand, she already had her answer to this question. Like Patrick, she realized something Draco didn't: he had fallen in love with Hermione. And Ginny, ever the romantic, smiled inwardly.

New sounds approached, and Draco and Ginny now saw the irritated, concerned headmistress, her robes gathered around her against the damp cold wind.

Minerva McGonagall sighed, shaking her head when she saw the three young people. That Ginevra Weasley was Hermione's very good friend was not new, but seeing Draco Malfoy crouched in front of a teary Hermione after passionately defending her was a memory she would cherish for the rest of her life.

"Miss Granger?" she quietly addressed the unhappy Head-Girl she had become so fond of. "I'm deeply sorry to hear of Mr. Weasley's behaviour towards you. It was unconscionable and unfounded. I'm glad that you and Mr. Malfoy have formed a truce, and even … a friendship, and I'm very proud of you both." She recalled what she'd witnessed several weeks ago, when she had been told that the two were at each other's throat, but found them locked in a kiss that nearly set the room afire. Or what Horace had related yesterday evening, that he was sure he'd interrupted a romantic exchange between the two. But she kept silence about it – especially now, with Ginny Weasley around. She didn't know how much Ginny might know, but Malfoy had already revealed much by being here. Ginny would have to be blind and stupid not to see the feelings the young Malfoy obviously had for Hermione, but – as Minerva had known for years – Ginny was neither.

Straightening, she continued: "I grounded Mr. Weasley to the Gryffindor tower for the next two weeks except for classes and Detention, and I will write a letter to his parents this afternoon. Are you ready to attend class, or shall I inform the professors that you will be off for the rest of the day?"

Hermione was not one who skipped classes easily. Not even now. "No, Professor, thank you, but … tests are in two weeks and I don't want to miss anything," she answered with a determined voice.

Draco rolled his eyes. "You will not fail the next test because of one missed lesson, Granger."

Minerva's eyes twinkled, for she agreed with the Head-Boy. "Mr. Malfoy is right. I don't think missing the afternoon classes will present a problem, Miss Granger. I have no fear for your N.E.W.T.s at the end of the year, but if you truly desire to attend, then I will allow it." She said this lightly. Ginny smiled up at her, seeing that the headmistress was attempting to ease the mood. Her gaze returned to Ginny's. "Miss Weasley, please remain close to Miss Granger until she feels calm enough to return to the castle. Missing Charms is certainly not a problem, so you might join the next class, which is, if I remember your schedule correctly, History of Magic." She knew that Professor Binns' even droning could make anyone fall asleep. It might be just what she needed.

Her eyes flicked to Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, as much as I appreciate your sensitivities, and your desire to comfort Miss Granger, I do not recommend that you skip the next class along with her. The rumours concerning you two are already the number-one topic of school gossip at the moment. If you remain with her now, some might begin to think that Mr. Weasley's allegations are based on truth."

Draco frowned, one elegant brow lifted. "Professor, I couldn't care less what the others think of my behaviour concerning Granger. She is my partner and a woman. And courtesy demands that a real gentleman should always be there for a woman when she is treated badly."

There was a twinkle in the headmistress' eye. "Mr. Malfoy, are you aware that the half of our students have not been raised that way? Or, additionally that a large number of our older girls would love to get a reaction from you like you showed towards Miss Granger just now? Or that you have confounded most of the boys – especially the members of your house? It would not be wise to add more fuel to the flames."

Hermione dabbed her nose and eyes with the handkerchief and whispered: "Professor McGonagall is right, Draco. We're already responsible for a great many rumours in the school." She placed a hand on his arm. "Thank you, Draco. Thank you so much for standing up for me the way you did." She managed a half-smile, "You _are_ a knight in black armour."

He smirked, "So you admit it." Then he looked down at the hand on his arm, his next words teasing. "If milady desires me to attend the headmistress, I will do so at once."

McGonagall addressed Hermione again: "You have History of Magic with Slytherin house, do you not?"

"Yes, Professor," she replied

The lady straightened. "Therefore, Mr. Malfoy will be there as well. He has a developed a tendency toward gallantry, where you are involved." She winked at the young man.

Ginny cleared her throat. "What's about my brother? Is he only grounded? What he did and said to Hermione was-"

"Mr. Malfoy has already given him eight weeks Detention, after dousing him with a large amount of icy water," McGonagall interrupted her and chuckled slightly at the looks on the girls' faces, and the satisfied grin of the Head-Boy. "As I said, Miss Granger, our Slytherin-Prince has developed certain tendencies."

This time all three students looked up at her. "'Slytherin Prince'?" Ginny asked, "You _know_-"

"-ALL of the nicknames going around the school?" She chuckled at the mixture of pride and wariness on the Slytherin's face. "Of course, Miss Weasley. There are very few things going on inside the walls of this school that a headmaster or -mistress ever misses." She winked at Hermione. "Well, a prince and a queen, imagine that." She laughed and turned. "Mr. Malfoy, please accompany me. And the young ladies should make their way inside. I am certain that will rain again soon." She waited for Draco and they both walked toward the castle as the first drizzle started…

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

If the midday had been dizzying, then the afternoon was a blur for Hermione. She returned to school with Ginny in time for History of Magic, and was met by a very worried Harry and an uneasy Draco, both waiting for her by the door, leaning on both sides of the doorframe, silent until the two girls arrived. Harry hugged her around the shoulders, whispering how sorry he was for Ron's behavior. Malfoy waited until she turned to enter, and asked quietly if she felt better. Their concern was touching, and she felt tears sting the corner of her eyes, but they were good tears. She forced a smile and nodded, but as she passed him his hand closed on hers.

Harry stared at the entwined hands. But before he could open his mouth or even say anything, Ginny linked her arm to his and pulled him with her, whispering: "Give them some space."

"They're holding_ hands_…" he stuttered and Ginevra looked up at him sweetly.

"It's his way. I like it." She flashed a smile at him, not ready to tell him about Draco's appearance outside the castle. Ignoring her brother completely, she waited for Hermione to come in, and pulled her friend after her, winking at Malfoy, who stuck his hands in his pockets as if nothing happened. He glanced at Harry, then shrugged and strolled towards his desk, ignored the pointed looks of his House-mates and, dropping his bag beside the chair, took his place beside Abdel, who smiled knowingly. Harry sat down beside Ron, offering his friend a sigh and shake of his head.

Binns came in, and started to ramble about the 19th century. Hermione's thoughts drifted to all that had happened, and relaxing, she also drifted away. Fortunately Ginny shook her awake just before class ended. Between her troubled thoughts and emotional exhaustion, the rest of the day passed without her realizing it, and she returned early from dinner.

Ron hadn't been at dinner, for he was grounded and therefore his meals would be sent to Gryffindor-tower for the next two weeks. He'd learned that afternoon that his House had their own opinions regarding his attack on Hermione, venturing nasty looks in his direction and ignoring him otherwise. When he tried to explain to a sixth-year boy that he only wanted Hermione to see how wrong she was behaving, the other wizard snapped that it was no reason to yell at her like that, and that he would have stepped in if Malfoy hadn't. And, to Ron's horror, the most of his House said the same, even saying that the Head-Boy had 'done the right thing.'

At bedtime, he stripped wordlessly and watched Harry doing the same. He felt awful, knowing that he had behaved badly. He still was sure that Malfoy was up to something and that he'd somehow tricked Hermione. But he also realized that he should have held his temper in check.

"Harry…?" he started, meeting the stern gaze of the green eyes behind the spectacles. "Do you think-"

"Do you even care what the others are thinking and feeling, Ron?" he asked. "Your behaviour today was abominable." He slipped into his pyjama. "Hells bells, what made you shout at Hermione like that? You even yelled at Sprout and gave mouthy answers to McGonagall. I really think that Malfoy helped you by giving you Detention for eight weeks. I don't even want to guess what McGonagall would have done, if she'd been there first."

Ron groaned and sat down on his bed. "I lost my temper, all right, but … but Malfoy is up to something. First he can't stand her and all of sudden…"

Harry, who was unenthusiastically running a brush through his unruly hair (with as much luck as the thousand times and more before), looked up. "Yeah, he could be up to something, but it's not what you're thinking. When a guy risks his life for a girl not once but twice, consoles her and stands up for her, even in public, and talks, jokes and works with her, then I suspect that said guy has feelings for that said girl." He met Ron's eyes, and added: "Ginny is right: if you keep this up, you'll lose her, and I couldn't blame her. I would _never_ treat Ginny like that, even if I had reason to be jealous. You hadn't – until now, I think."

Ron, whose head had bowed in shame, shot up. "What do you mean?"

Harry pulled his covers back and answered, "If Hermione had no reason to look at anyone else before, she certainly has now. And Malfoy could take your place, you know. I swear, I never thought I would see the day when I watched Draco Malfoy make puppy-dog eyes toward Hermione Granger, of all people, but today I witnessed it." He let himself drop onto the bed, reaching for his Arithmancy book. "And one more thing, Ron: if you don't drop this and start acting like a loving friend should, you WILL lose her."

"To Malfoy?" Ron asked. "Harry, his own aunt tortured her, and he-"

Harry looked up. "You said it yourself: his _aunt_, not him. He didn't kill Fred, as you know, too. And he certainly didn't attack your parents or your home. I still don't like him, but he isn't a foe anymore and he never was a killer like the most other Death Eaters. I could tell that at the tower, when Snape stepped in for him. You're going to have to change your attitude, Ron, or you will grow as bitter and hard and prejudiced as those people we fought against."

His friend sighed. "I know that Malfoy didn't kill Fred, but the friends of his father-"

"There you said it again: the friends of his father, not _him_. There is a big difference, Ron. Is a person responsible for his own actions, or do you lump him together with the rest of his family and associates?" He pulled his knees towards him, balancing the heavy book on them. "You're taking out your hurt and resentment on others, Ron. I do miss Fred very much, too. He was like an older brother to me and I never had more fun than when the twins were up to something. But time hasn't stopped. You are not the only one who lost family to the war. We all did. I lost my parents during the first war. I hurt inside just imagining what kind of life I could have had if not for Tom Riddle. I lost Sirius, my only chance at anything like a family. I lost Lupin and Tonks, for Lupin was family, too. And it hurts me to see the scar on McGonagall's cheek, or to look in the direction of Dumbledore's grave, knowing I not only lost a teacher but my mentor – heck, even a kind of grandfather."

He glanced at his friend, and saw the most pained expression on his face Harry ever saw. His voice softened, as he continued: "This war wounded all of us and most scars will remain invisible, but felt until the end of our lives. Injured souls are hard to heal. And we pray that this is never repeated. But if our people do not let go of the past, we will end up in hate and bitterness again, which are fertilizer for those who would regain power over us again. And, suddenly, someone again arises who will use his chance to rule the world and the whole mess starts again." He took his wand, ready to close the curtains around his bed. "Think about it, Ron. We can't change what happened, but we can choose our actions that will affect the future. And you should apologize to Hermione, and not only with a simple 'I'm sorry' like you did when you returned to us last year. You hurt her badly enough for her to never speak to you again!"

A flick and the curtains drew closed, leaving a troubled and hurt Ron Weasley alone with his thoughts.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione had a bad night. Even Draco's offer of a nightcap – his father's excellent sherry – and a quiet conversation about everything and nothing in front of a roaring fireplace didn't lead her to a peaceful sleep. Adding to the awful scene in the Great Hall, she found herself yearning for Draco, wanting to crawl into his arms and find forgetfulness in their warm strength.

But that was out of question. It would have looked weak. Additionally, she didn't want him to feel used. She'd been tempted to press their relationship to something else, but hesitated until today. To come to him now because she needed comfort? No, it would be unfair to him and she valued their growing friendship too much to exploit his newly developed concern towards her – even if she wished him near for shelter just now. She was too confused and wasn't ready to even think of a closer relationship with him. Not yet.

Tossing again and again, she gave finally up, crept into the bathroom and took a calming potion she always had among her private belongings after the war ended. The nightmares she had at first had robbed her of sleep, and from time to time she used it, even now, especially during the first weeks back at Hogwarts and after the raid of Hogsmeade. She took a large gulp, grimaced at the bitter taste, and returned to her bed, where the medicine did its work –

- only to cause her to oversleep, if not for Malfoy, who banged on her door around 7:30, warning her that she was going to be late. She woke up and needed ten minutes under a cold shower to clear away the last effects of the potion. It was good that the week was nearing its end.

With a head that felt twice its normal size, and limbs as heavy as iron, she walked down to breakfast and managed to down a bit of breakfast before she was on her way to Transfiguration. One sceptical look from McGonagall was enough to tell Hermione that the headmistress had seen straight to her solution the night before. But right now, she didn't pay attention to the stern glance of the Head of her House, who had her own opinion regarding 'calming potions.'

After class and before lunch, something happened on the first floor that brought a good laugh to the Hogwarts' inhabitants. It began with the arrival of McGonagall, who pushed through the crowd in search for a particular student who was just about to go up to the Gryffindor-tower to take his lonely lunch. The headmistress called his name, loud enough to attract everyone's attention, and when Ron turned around, she simply handed him an envelope.

Usually the message would have come by owl and not be hand-delivered by the headmistress. But since the Weasleys were still in hiding, Minerva had received the letter in secrecy. And she took the opportunity to give a wordless lecture to Ron, one he deserved, in her opinion. War-hero or not, he had gone too far.

Frowning, Ron tore the envelope open, only to reveal another inside – a red one. Harry, standing next to him, bit his lips, knowing exactly what it was: a Howler – a kind of letter that _screamed_ its message in exactly the tone the sender would have used to rebuke their wayward child. Remembering the Howler Ron received in their second year, after they 'borrowed' Mr. Weasley's flying car, he knew what his friend was about to face. The envelope had even begun to smoke at the corners.

"Open it, or it will only get worse!" Luna said over his shoulder, and Ron gulped. With dread he realized that several of the Slytherins were nearby, too – among them, of course, Malfoy. Swallowing again, Ron looked for Hermione, but she only turned her face away and waited.

Taking a deep breath, Ron opened the Howler. Everyone who knew what was coming jammed their fingers in their ears. The envelope promptly exploded with the voice of Ron's mother, a hundred times louder than usual, making plates and cutlery rattle:

'_RONALD WEASLEY! HOW DARE YOU TO EMBARRASS US ALL LIKE THIS! YOUR FATHER IS ASHAMED OF YOU! WE DIDN'T RAISE YOU LIKE A STREET URCHIN, TO YELL AT THE TEACHERS, ACCUSE OTHER STUDENTS OF NONSENSE, AND TALK INSOLENTLY TO THE HEADMISTRESS, NOR SHOUT AT HERMIONE LIKE A BANSHEE! SHE IS YOUR VERY DEAR FRIEND AND A SPECIAL PART OF OUR FAMILY, AND YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO SHELLAC HER LIKE A MAD DOG? YOU CAN BE GLAD THAT YOU ONLY GOT EIGHT WEEKS DETENTION FROM THE HEAD-BOY, I WOULD HAVE GROUNDED YOU FOR THE REST OF THE YEAR, AND GIVEN YOU EXTRA WORK UNTIL CHRISTMAS JUST TO REMIND YOU TO BEHAVE LIKE AN ADULT AND NOT TO TAKE OUT YOUR BAD MOOD OUT ON EVERYONE ELSE!'_

The Howler turned, and Mrs. Weasley's voice asked: _'Hermione?'_

Knowing that the magical letter had already noticed her and that there was no escaping its assignment, she answered tentatively: "Yes?"

_'I am sorry for how my son treated you! Give him another punch, this time from me. As it seems I didn't slap him enough when he was a child – and a child he still is!'_

Again the Howler turned toward the cuprit. _'WAIT UNTIL YOU'RE BACK FOR CHRISTMAS, RON WEASLEY! YOUR FATHER IS GOING TO HAVE A FIRM TALK WITH YOU ABOUT MODESTY AND POLITENESS, AND HOW THE LACK OF IT REFLECTS BADLY ON THIS FAMILY! TO HUMILIATE ME, YOUR MOTHER, LIKE THIS, AS IF I HAVEN'T RAISED YOU WELL ENOUGH! WHAT SHALL HERMIONE THINK OF ME – OR THE HEADMISTRESS AND THE WHOLE STAFF AT HOGWARTS! SHAME ON YOU! AND IF I GET ANOTHER MESSAGE FROM PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL ABOUT YOU, I WILL MAKE CERTAIN THAT YOU HAVE DETENTION UNTIL EASTER! UNBELIEVABLY FOOLISH BOY THAT YOU ARE! REALLY, I AM AT A LOSS FOR WORDS!' _

With that the Howler fell into Ron's hands, burst into flames, and curled into ashes. The sudden silence in the large space was deafening.

It hung over them all for several very long seconds, before a familiar voice drawled: "Hmm, evidently not that much of a loss, Weasley!"

It was Draco, of course – and his dry comment destroyed the silence. The laughter echoed through the whole main part of the castle, as hundreds of students burst into loud guffaws, very glad it wasn't _their_ mother who chose to rebuke them so thoroughly.

Ron's face was blood-red with embarrassment. A Howler! As if he was indeed a small child! Embarrassing him in front of the whole school like this – after all that happened over the last year – his mother had to be crazy! He looked at Hermione, hoping for some understanding, but she only glared at him and walked away, while Harry shrugged, mouthing: "You knew this would happen!" Shaking his head to clear it, he only now noticed that Flitwick and Sprout were present as well, standing beside McGonagall, who had raised a brow. Amusement sparkled in her eyes, and several of the Gryffindors even applauded. This was too much for his bruised and shaky ego. Brusquely, he pushed through the crowd and fled to the Gryffindor-tower, cursing his situation.

Draco wiped a tear of laughter away, grinning at Abdel and Patrick Graham. The latter was smirking, but the Egyptian frowned. He had heard of Howlers, but had never witnessed one. In his country, it wasn't usual to confront a son or a daughter like this, even if he or she deserved it. Problems were handled inside of the family, never in public.

"I hoped he would get a Howler from his mother. He already got one in our second year," Draco chuckled. He crossed his arms, his school bag dangling from his left shoulder. "Well, maybe now he knows how Hermione felt yesterday."

He didn't see Abdel's thoughtful look, while Graham smiled and winked at a younger student. It was only when Patrick saw the looks the Head-Boy got from the Gryffindors around him that his concern reawakened concerning the other's sanity in valuing the Gryffindor-Queen like this.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As the crowd moved to the Great Hall to get some lunch, Harry remained behind, thoughtfully watching the retreating figure of the Head-Boy. He had heard Malfoy's comment to Abdel and Graham, and his mind started to turn again. The Slytherin was up to something, true enough, but Harry thought (not for the first time) that Malfoy's intentions weren't of a harmful nature, but more of an … amorous one.

Ginny saw that Harry hadn't followed her. She looked back and saw him leaning against one of the stone walls; his look thoughtful. She returned. "Harry?"

He blinked and glanced at her. "Yeah?"

"Everything all right?" she asked, and he took a deep breath.

"Not sure." He nodded in the direction Ron had disappeared. "I'm worried about him. Stubbornness and temper for Ron is nothing new, but he's about to manoeuvre himself into more trouble."

Ginny appreciated Harry's thoughtfulness, and sighed. "He'll come down off it, Harry, sooner or later." She grimaced. "My brother is such a… a… UNGH!" she threw her head back in frustration, balling her hands into fists.

"He's jealous. And you know he has a reason to be," Harry said carefully and met her surprised look.

"You know?" she asked. "Hermione told you that-" Seeing his curious expression, she quickly clapped her mouth shut, but too late. Harry had heard enough.

"What did Hermione tell you? Something about her and Malfoy?"

Ginny moaned – she'd just fallen for the world's oldest trick, unbelievable! – and headed towards the staircase to the Great Hall. Harry followed her and she could feel his glances as they took the stairs. Ginny bit her lips. "Girl-talk, Harry, nothing I can tell you."

They reached the Entrance Hall, but before Ginny could walk into the Great Hall, Harry pulled her to the side of the entrance. "Ginny, what's going on?"

As Ginevra only shook her head, he sighed. "Then let me tell you. Malfoy gets next to Hermione at any opportunity. He practically freaked when Ron berates her. He gets all possessive when another bloke stares at her, and switches into full white-knight mode as soon as she needs help. Hermione was nearly hysterical when we found him unconscious in the cellars and held his head in her lap and fussed over him like a mother cat over her kitten. And now they're standing up for each other." Potter lay a hand on Ginny's shoulder, head to the side, eyebrows raised. "I'm not blind, Gin. Malfoy is still a brat but he is also a damn handsome blighter. And Hermione is beautiful. Both are intelligent, both match the other's skills, both are practically living together. So, don't tell me that there isn't any attraction on both sides – attraction that maybe has already been acknowledged."

Ginny looked up at him and pondered her answer. She, of course, knew what was going on between the two, as much as a best friend could. Hermione's admission only two days ago was still fresh in her mind. Her friend might deny it, but Ginny knew better: Mione had fallen for the arrogant, sarcastic Slytherin Prince. And if she read the signs correctly, then the infamous Malfoy-control had failed the young wizard. He had developed feelings he shouldn't have for someone forbidden by their community. But her friend had told her this in confidence, and she would never betray Hermione's trust.

"Harry, when girls talk, it's for their ears and theirs alone. I would never press you about anything you've shared with Ron, so please understand that I can't answer your questions." She cupped his cheek in a loving gesture. "I know, you only want to know because you're worried about Hermione, but please give her time to figure out what she really wants before you confront her."

Again Harry could read between the lines. "So, there is something between the two. Something that would make Ron flip out and give me headaches for weeks."

Ginny smiled. "Everyone has to make his own happiness. I'm not sure what will come of … of whatever these two have, but I trust Mione to make the right decisions. She doesn't trust easily, especially someone who has taunted her for years, but the two have buried their enmity and are going along rather nicely. More than that, well, you don't have to know just yet."

Pushing his glasses up on his nose, Harry snorted: "Do I want to know how 'well' they're getting along?"

"Not yet," Ginny smirked and turned. "Come on, let's get lunch. I have Arithmancy afterwards, and I will not survive it on an empty stomach."

Chuckling Harry followed her; his mind still circling around the Head-Boy and Head-Girl, Slytherin and Gryffindor ...

TBC…

_Did I promise too much? I do hope that Draco's behaviour wasn't too much out of character and that the whole thing with the Howler met your approval. Please let me know, if you liked it or not._

_In the next chapter our friends will learn more about the ancient Egyptian magic their guest-students are using and will be able to link several puzzle-parts together that will show them a new track. Oh, and there will be a little bit more romantic between our two Head-Students._

_I'm sorry, but the next chapter will be published the weekend after Eastern, because I'm off for a short vacation, starting this Friday._

_Therefore I wish you all Happy Eastern,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	36. Letters And Their Results

_Dear Readers,_

_At first thank you so much for the nice reviews and a happy "welcome" to the new readers. Thank you also for the compliments regarding my English (yes, I do have a very good friend, whose first language is English and who does the beta-reading for me for years now) and for the researches I really did to write no nonsense about the Egyptian mythology. And I have to admit that the researches are still a lot of fun…_

_I try to publish the new chapters at every weekend, but sometimes – when times run short – it will come at Mondays (but mainly at Fridays or Saturdays)._

_For those, who waited for chapter 34: it was published two weeks ago, but out of no-where the story didn't show up on the first page after the upload. I even deleted the chapter and published it anew, but – again – the story wasn't to find in the front. I think, had a little problem. So for those, who didn't know that chapter 34 was already published: please read this first._

_And now: off to Hogwarts, and I can promise you all that there will be interesting news about the 4 foreign students, but also sweet scenes between our two love-birds._

_Have fun,_

_Love you all,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 35 – Letters and Their Results**

The next few days went by without an answer from Lucius Malfoy nor from Dr. Granger. Hermione had been able to sleep the last three nights, probably because of the pleasant circumstances in the dormitory. Since the ugly quarrel between her and Ron, the Heads' evenings had been spent together, studying, comparing notes, talking about everything and nothing. Draco was like a rock in her stormy sea, sitting and listening, and as the Gryffindor-Queen took a place beside him at Friday after they'd finished their homework, he wrapped an arm around her and found her curled next to him like a cat. He didn't mind. Not one bit! He loved to feel her snuggling against him, and as she almost fell asleep not much later – more or less on his lap – he realized how at peace he was with himself and the world as long as she was with him. He knew that his little lioness was still hurting, but she was finding her way back to herself. The only word he could put to the feeling of watching her dozing off, cuddled in his arms, was ... happiness.

Sunday morning, she slept late, and when her eyes opened she lay listening to the wind. Outside the weather had grown colder, and it wouldn't be long before frost and snow covered the world outside. When snow finally came, it would be later than usual, after the hot summer. But now, as the temperature had fallen below freezing at night, the snow would remain when it finally did fall.

So, Hermione curled up under her comforter and sighed contentedly, dozing again.

But not for long.

Moments later she heard the shower start in the bathroom. Her drowsy unbridled imagination immediately went to the water drops pearling down his toned, marble coloured body, the hair slicked back, soap bubbles streaming from limbs and

Groaning Hermione shook her head and rubbed her forehead, as she realized what just happened: that she would _love_ to be with him in the bathroom, under the shower, exploring. And to know he was so close woke her up the rest of the way, frustrated by unwanted desire and his inaccessibility. Sighing, she stroked the sleeping half Kneazle beside her. "Your mistress is in trouble, Crooks," she whispered. "A fight with my boyfriend, who is so highly offended that he accuses me of cheating, and then I can't get off my mind another one, who's making me wish for things I really shouldn't."

Crookshanks looked at her sleepily, meowing, before he relaxed again. The shower stopped and soon the door to the Head-Boy's dormitory was opened and closed again. Hermione bit her lips, calling herself a coward for not daring to do what she'd been thinking. _'I'm insane! St. Mungo's mad! I must NOT lust after him – but heaven help me, I do!'_

Raising his head, Crookshanks suddenly stood, staring at the door; his ears were pushed forward as he listened. Then Hermione heard Lady Hillary's irritated voice: "It's Sunday morning, sir, and the young lady is still abed. And you, young man, are not properly clad. So don't you dare… I said NO!"

There was a pounding on the thick door. "Granger? You awake?" He sounded urgent, and Hermione asked herself if she really were truly ready to face him now – she couldn't trust herself around him in the moment – or if she simply should pretend to be asleep. As the pounding continued, she sighed, flung her covers aside and slid to the cold floor – the fireplace was only embers – and she shivered as she walked the few steps to the door, her bare feet on the stone floor where the carpet ended. Removing the charm from the door, she yanked it open, Draco's fist poised at her nose.

"Finally!" he said, lowering his hand. "Flogging figwits, sleepyhead, you're hard to wake up!" He slipped into her room before she could stop him. She then saw that all he was wearing was a pair of black trousers made of fine English wool, revealing his perfect toned chest, and her mouth felt dry. Sweet saints, this boy-man was a _living temptation_. For a moment she imagined her fingertips wandering over his strong back or over his flat stomach. Then she blushed, and snapped "Oh, shut up!" to the scolding portrait. Closing the door, she crossed her arms, only realizing then that she was, of course, in pyjamas. Well, it wasn't the first time he'd seen her that way. It was an odd feeling, wild, free, facing him improperly clad.

Draco looked around, checking out the oak furniture, the four poster bed, the high windows and the large fireplace. Their rooms were similar, but here the burgundy red and gold gave a warm ambiance, whereas in his chamber, green and silver made everything solid and elegant, but also colder. Hermione's scent that he knew so well by now was in every fold of the velvet curtains. The desk was neat and the room showed nothing out of place, except perhaps the unmade bed. _Of course. It was just a part of her._

He heard her clearing her throat and turned around, catching her staring at his bare chest, before she lifted defiantly her chin – but the pink in her cheeks gave her away. He smirked and lifted a brow, daring her to say something. Her words were just what he needed. "Have you only come for a sight-seeing tour, or do you have something you wish to share?"

'_Oops, wrong question!'_ She realized this the moment the words left her lips. His smirk widened into a broad grin, and he cocked his head. "Well, I do think I might have something important to _share_ with you – if you let me." His voice was low and warm.

The pink deepened, and her heart accelerated, while she hugged herself. "Do you?" she asked; not ready to back down.

"Shall I ... show you?" he purred, and wriggled his brows; enjoying the game.

Her breath was caught in her throat, then she gulped and took a deep breath. _'__No, he isn't going to win this!'_ "Sorry, Malfoy, but you don't have anything I haven't seen already." There, that would work, wouldn't it? He looked too smug and far too confident for her taste.

"Oh, there you are wrong, Kitten. You only got a glimpse of what I could show you, and…" He sidled up to her, taking in her wide eyes (slightly alarmed), and her unbrushed hair he itched to bury his finger in. He bent until they were nose to nose, his voice barely more than a husky whisper, the perfume of her skin filling him up, and murmured: "And I know you're dying of _curiosity_ right ... about ... now!"

Hermione swallowed again. Too close. He was - much - too close – and smelled fantastic, with his aromatic shower gel and the after shave he used mingled with his own fragrance. His fresh breath danced over her face and she had to clutch the arms within the sleeves of her pyjamas to keep her hands out of that silver blond hair. Wetting her lips, she murmured back: "And … and what do you think it is I want to see?"

Mirth danced in his eyes. "This!"

Grinning, he brought out a folded peace of parchment he had hidden behind his back, waving it in front of her baffled gaze. "There are several very interesting revelations about our dolls and their magic." When her eyes narrowed, he asked her, with a false astonishment, "What did you think I meant?"

"You … YOU!" she stuttered, embarrassed and angry, knowing that he was teasing her with what she secretly fought against for days – weeks! – now. "You made me believe… Oh YOU-!" The next moment she hurled herself at him – an attack he hadn't foreseen – and he stumbled backwards, losing his balance. With a yelp he landed on her bed, where a startled Crookshanks leapt away snarling. Draco's Seeker reflexes sent his free hand to Hermione's upper arm, and with a surprised squeak, she went down with him, finding herself on top of him. One of his long arms snaked around her and held her close, while she tried to gather her thoughts. She had shoved him, he fell, he grabbed her, and -

_Now she lay on a HALF NAKED Draco Malfoy on HER BED in her pyjamas, his arm around her and her hands were on his BARE CHEST!_

Her first thought was _'Flee!'_. The next one was: _'This is your room, so kick him out!'_ And the next one was: _'I'm in Heaven!'_

Draco smiled as he felt the fragile body literally in his arms. Her heart thudded over his, while her tangled curls tickled him. And it felt so right, so completely and utterly _right_! He wrapped his other arm around her, too, and sighed with satisfaction. This was definitely better than talking about a letter from his father. It was _Saturday_ morning, outside the weather was rainy and cold, and this bed was far too comfortable to get up – even though red and gold!

Hermione couldn't believe what was happening as his other arm slipped around her, while he relaxed beneath her. He even _sounded_ like a an oversized cat. "Uh … Malfoy?" she began carefully; seeing their compromising situation.

"Draco," he corrected her lazily, and she rolled her eyes.

"All right, _Draco_. Care to explain why you show up at my door with false insinuations…"

"Tsk, tsk, Miss Granger. Getting wet fantasies about me again?"

"MALFOY!" she squealed.

He winced at the pitch of her voice. He smiled up at her, as she shoved her fists into the mattress. That this movement caused her lower half to ground more firmly in his, woke heat in him, and he gulped. All flushed, with unruly hair and irritated gaze she was again a sight to be hold – and his heart went out to her once more. God help him, but this girl drove him mad with want. He cleared his throat, reminded himself the reason he went to her.

"The owl came, and I couldn't wait to share it," he said; his voice sounding hoarse in his own ears. Her weight on his was too alluring, his little lioness. He wanted to pull her lips to his, wanted to devour her sweet breath until she whimpered once again in pleasure.

"And couldn't possibly wait until I came down to the common room?" Hermione asked, desperately trying to ignore the heat and butterflies in her belly. This was too close, too intimate, the tendency to imagine how it would feel to be _completely_ skin to skin with him overtaking her.

"I thought it urgent," he replied casually, tightening his hold around her, enjoying their predicament.

Hermione bit her lower lip and cleared her throat again, pushing away the inevitable images. "And yet you still haven't shown me." No, her voice was not that husky, was it?

He swallowed as he heard the change, his silver eyes shone. "Priorities changed," he whispered. "There is one motto in my family I'm loyal to: First things come always first." With that he buried his hand in her unruly curls and moved to pull her down to capture her lips with his, but found a furry face between them. Draco hurriedly turned his head away, otherwise he would have kissed the ugly ginger pet.

"Crooks!" Hermione scolded, not realizing that her irritated outburst could give anyone the idea that she was angry _not_ to be kissed. Which Draco, of course heard, and he smiled inwardly in victory. He was winning her, already _had_, if he read it right!

Shooting the pet an irritated glare, he growled. "I do not need a chaperone, so get lost!"

Crookshanks only meowed into his face; the golden eyes examining the gray.

Sighing the Gryffindor-Queen stroked the fur of her four-legged friend. "Don't _you _get jealous, Crooks. One male with an overblown ego is more than enough."

Again the half-Kneazle meowed and pawed one of Malfoy's hands – claws retracted, but the warning was unmistakable. Ignoring the Head-Boy's moan, Hermione rolled off and lay on her side on the mattress, looking at him beneath long lashes. He shifted on his side, too, and propped his head on his fist, facing her; pouting like a little boy who had been robbed off his favourite toy. For a moment, Hermione's heart spilled over with unwanted, wild, tender emotions. Then she saw it – both of them on her bed, half clothed, - _sweet baby Jesus' tiny bone rattle, if she did not immediately find a way to distract herself, she would reach for him and…_

_And Ron would have every right to accuse her of cheating on him! _And she was astonished when she noticed that it wouldn't bother her at all. The thought of giving herself to the Prince of Slytherin held no regret for her.

She cleared her throat to break the silence. Then she asked tentatively: "So … what did your father write?"

Draco knew that the moment was lost, but he still enjoyed being so close to her in this environment – as if he only felt whole when he was with her. A part of him sighed at the pathetic nature of this feeling, but he couldn't change it. This girl had not only messed with his emotions, but also with his mind. Corralling the wild horses of his desire once again, he answered: "Those dolls have been used for between four and five millennia. Traditionally, they are made of wax, sometimes of wood, and the ensigns on them are chosen by the individual using them, depending on the design of the magic. The Egyptians believed that every character, every soul, could be, well, copied as soon as it was drawn on a figure or statue."

Hermione nodded, now in full student mode. "The reason why they prayed to the statues as though they were speaking directly with their gods – or why the statues saw everything or could guard important places."

Draco shrugged. "Something like that." He unfolded the document with his free hand. "Father did some research and found out that the signs on the doll you copied refer to Anubis." He saw her flinch and continued. "The signs around the head hold a part of him within the doll. Additionally, there is a reference to a young human connected with Anubis." He looked up from the letter. "Here's the best part. The other signs can stand alone, but when used together, it becomes an _illusion charm_ with incredible range."

She blinked, then smiled triumphantly. "I knew it! They tricked us! They used those dolls to slip past the new wards and deceive Harry's map. And I'm certain that the other dolls all have the same symbols, only referring to different gods."

"There's more," Malfoy added with a smirk, enjoying sharing new information with the brightest witch of the age. "Father did additional research concerning the connection between the god and the young human, knowing I would be interested. The magic has to be involved is old. _Very_ old! The first record of this goes back to around 3000 BC. The magic was used by priests dedicated to a particular god, like, in this case, Anubis. It connected the priests - or any other human being - to each god."

"Connected?" Hermione shifted to her elbow and examined the paper covered by clear, neat, beautiful handwriting – a style reminiscent of Draco's. "How? Emotionally?" Her eyes found his again, and as Malfoy looked at her, the suspicion that had nagged at her for days now was confirmed. "The soul," she whispered, "the magic linked the _soul_ of them with the higher beings."

Draco nodded, "Yes. Using this magic, a person donates a portion of his soul and receives another portion in return – an eternal connection, unbreakable, powerful."

Hermione sat up and wrapped her arms around her legs, propping her chin on her knees. "So…" she mused, lost in thought, "it's possible that Edis, Abdel, Neriman and Layla ... are bound to the gods of their Houses with this ancient magic. That's why they can change into their shapes, animal or human. They can transform because a part of these gods reside in them." She frowned. "Or they're using the bodies of these four to walk the Earth again." Chewing her lips, she asked, "But does it mean that those ancient gods really exist – still – or were they magicians with incredible power, perhaps living in hiding for hundreds of generations? Perhaps the Egyptians didn't pray to the original Isis, for example, but to her daughter, granddaughter, and so on?" She scratched her head. "I don't know which I'd prefer: eternal beings, or powerful magicians using their capacities to affect generation upon generation."

Looking again at Draco, something else occurred to her. "But if this magic is so old, according to your father, how is it that there are still people who knows how to use it? There must be rituals, vows, priests who prepared them and…" she frowned again, "and why, by Merlin's beard, would someone share a part of his soul with an ancient god no one believes in anymore?"

"I think Abdel and the others believe. And maybe they weren't asked, but were required to perform whatever rituals were necessary." His voice held a hint of bitterness.

Hearing it, she watched him, knowing that he was referring to his own experiences. She was almost certain he hadn't received the Dark Mark of his own free will, but had been forced to take it in order to save his family. Without thinking, she reached out and gently touched his left arm, smiling softly. He understood. She could see it in his eyes, and after a few seconds, she stretched out again beside him. "So, the four are connected to their gods of their houses by some old magic. They explore Hogwarts in the shapes of the gods whenever they're up to something. Possibly their power is stronger then. So, we have to find out: why? Why are they here, obviously reinforced by ancient magicks, and pretending to be normal students? And why did they help us against the Death Eaters and werewolves in their animal forms?" Her eyes widened suddenly. "And _how_ did your father work this out?"

"Ah, there's the question I've been waiting for," Malfoy smirked. He caught the edge of the warm comforter and pulled it over himself.

"And?" Hermione's voice was inpatient.

"And what?" he asked innocently and laughed when she whacked his upper arm.

"Speak up, Malfoy!"

"Draco!" he told her again and chuckled, as she rolled her eyes once more. Then he got more comfortable on her bed and murmured, "It's chilly here, don't you think?"

"That's because you're only half dressed," she told him, shifting closer. "Come on, Draco, tell me", she implored. "How did your father figure this out and…" She stopped when she saw him looking toward the fireplace and moving his lips. Wood flew out of the box and behind the grate, and a new fire started. Hermione gaped. "How…?" Then she stared at him. "Wandless magic! You know _this _wandless magic? And you wouldn't say anything when Ghani asked us?"

His grin grew wider. "There's an advantage when you know things others don't."

Hermione looked at him with longing. "Teach me!" she whispered, her whole face lit with excitement and hunger for knowledge.

Draco pursed his lips. "You, the brightest witch of our age, the top of the class and a Gryffindor to the bone, ask me, a Slytherin, to teach _you_ something?" He leaned toward her. "What would Potter say?"

Sighing, she shook her head. "He'd ask me why I didn't find out sooner, and when could I tutor him." She edged nearer to him, a determined smile on her lips. "And didn't you say only weeks ago that I would make a good Slytherin if it not for my blood status?"

The Head-Boy was celebrating inwardly. This conversation was heading into a direction of his liking. "Then you are aware that a true Slytherin would demand payment, don't you? None of us would anything just to be 'nice'."

Hermione was fully aware of the boyish gleam in his eyes and the hidden smirk around his sensual lips. He was playing with her, she knew, but two could play that game. "You are never ever 'nice', Draco, but nevertheless, you are a gentleman." She was suddenly aware, too, how close they were to each other and that he was – still – only half-dressed. But she was not about to back down. The woman inside of her, striving to finally bloom, wouldn't allow it. "So, what if I pay for the first lesson in advance?" she whispered temptingly; knowing where it would lead, if she did what she wanted just right now.

Raising a brow, he retorted dryly, "Granger, you don't even know what I want or-" He stopped as her mouth found his in a short but surprisingly passionate kiss. It was the first time that she had taken the initiative, that she was kissing him, and not the other way around. And his shocked status lasted for exactly two seconds, then his long arms shot out under the comforter and pulled her into a tight embrace. But before he could even begin to deepen the kiss, she pulled away, mischief dancing in her eyes. "But if you think, oh mighty Prince of Slytherin, that you can distract me from my earlier request, then you are VERY wrong."

Draco moaned. "Hermione, really! Does that brain of yours ever stop working? Here you are with the hottest guy in Hogwarts in _your_ bed…"

"Ego much?" she teased, licking her lips, tasting him and loving it.

"- wrapped in the arms the rest of the girls are dreaming about-"

"Vanity!"

"- and ask how _my father got his information_?"

She laughed, then said sweetly, ruffling his hair: "Oh, poor Draco, what a blow to your manly pride." She squeaked as he pinched her side, and pulled away – only to find out that his arms were truly as strong as she remembered.

"And are you ticklish?" he asked. When he saw the mild panic in her eyes, a devilish grin appeared. "You asked for it, Granger, just so you know." The next second, he started to tickle her mercilessly. Hermione squealed and screeched, interrupted by wild giggling and useless pleas to stop, while she tried to wriggle free. He rolled aside and pulled her under him, and his laughter echoed from the walls. Crookshanks darted off the bed with an irritated snarl, but was ignored by both humans.

Malfoy couldn't remember when he'd had so much fun before – feeling so free and careless, only enjoying the moment of pure childish mirth. It was like being five again, frolicking around with his father's dogs, or having a snowball fight with Crabbe, Goyle and Blaise when they were seven. Grinning he watched Hermione writhing beneath him, her face flushed, her eyes tearing with laughter.

"Stop it, Draco, please stop it!" she shrieked. As she caught a glimpse of his happily laughing face, she followed her first instinct: she lifted her head and kissed him.

Instantly his fingers grew still as he felt her sweet tongue licking his lips. Groaning, he marvelled at the flavour of his little Gryffindor, while his hands found the soft curves of her body, slipped under the pyjama top and felt the smooth skin. With a sigh he realized that her fingers were in his hair now, stroking his scalp, her breath on his face. This. Was. Heaven!

Hermione had caught her breath after the tickling, and was savouring his soft ministration. Her proper side was screaming yet again, and that they were – outrageously – barely clothed, in her bed ... but she didn't care. It felt too good to have him in her arms, and his presence in all her senses made her want more. One of her hands slid over his back, enjoying the human silk and the muscles beneath her fingertips.

For moments, their mouths created another kind of life, as they responded to the gentle raiding of each other, then he broke the kiss, breathless, heart pounding. "You make me dizzy, Kitten," he murmured, trying to control the fire pulsing through his body.

Wetting her swollen lips, Hermione thought of something to say, but nothing came to her mind. '_If he is dizzy, then what I am?'_

The soft buzz of the magical alarm clock brought them back to the present, and as both looked toward the nightstand, the clock showed that they had only half an hour to get to breakfast. Sighing, Draco rolled away from her, sitting up. "Well, I for one don't want to walk down to the kitchen again for a late breakfast."

Still fuzzy, Hermione could only grumble something unintelligible. Picking up the crumpled letter – it had been under them during the tickling – Draco rose and ran his fingers through his tousled hair. "Hurry up, Sweetie, I am certain that you're starving. Making out makes one _hungry_…"

He threw her a fiercely suggestive glance – and dodged a pillow on the way to the door. "Get out, you arrogant-" She laughed, but didn't finish, because he'd already reached the door and left, his laughter heard in the passageway. She found herself grinning, her lips tingling, her whole body alive as never before.

She rose, heading to the bathroom, only now realizing what just happened. "Sweet Merlin, Hermione, he caught you. And he caught you good!" she whispered, acknowledging at last that she had the vain, arrogant Prince of Slytherin deep under her skin.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

They made it just in time to breakfast, parted at the entrance to the Great Hall – for once not caring what others would think of them arriving together – and hastened to their house tables. Hermione blinked in surprise, seeing the school owl that she sent a week ago to her mother sitting at her place. Harry and Ginny, both almost finished with their breakfast, looked up and the Ginny grinned as her friend took her seat.

"He's been here for over ten minutes, and wouldn't allow Harry or me to get the letter for you," she said, pointing at the tall owl, which hooted as Hermione reached for it.

"Hey there, my friend, do you have something for me? Yes? Then I have something for you." Offering the bird some cookies, the owl took them with care, greedily devouring them, and left her as soon as the last crumbs had vanished. Taking a long sip from her pumpkin juice, she popped opened the thick envelope – again wrapped in plastic – and looked inside. She found printouts, clippings and a small book, as well as a letter from her mother. She nodded at her friends, signalling to them that she had received what she'd asked for.

"Meeting today?" she asked quietly, relieved that Neriman was not around.

Harry sighed. "Sorry, Hermione, we have Quidditch practise. Robards informed McGonagall yesterday evening that the Quidditch pitch and the path to it is safe now." He grinned like Christmas morning. "So, no meeting until this afternoon."

"After the three o'clock Prefect meeting would be ideal," Ginny added, explaining, "Preliminary plans for Advent, Mione, did you forget?"

With a squeal Hermione slapped her forehead. How could she forget that? _'__Well, after Draco Malfoy in my bed, something like that could happen!'_ her mind protested immediately. The other side of her protested immediately, _'What's so special about him?' _Her heart answered before she could sort out her thoughts from her feelings. _'Quite a lot! He makes me feel like I never have before!'_

"Mione?" Harry asked when she didn't respond.

She shook her head. "Sorry, guys, I'm a little distracted this morning."

Ginny fixed her with a knowing gaze, glancing at the Head Boy's breezy expression as he ate his breakfast. "So," she started, "your Slytherin got some news?"

"Yes. Draco got a letter from his father, too, and Lucius Malfoy sent some very interesting information," she reported, smiling as she saw their eager attention.

"Really? What did Death Eater Daddy find out?" Harry asked quietly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Stop calling him that, Harry," she scolded softly, remembering her partner's fearful worries for his parents. "Draco's father is in the same difficulties as a lot of other wizards that turned away from Voldemort, and he is more or less a prisoner in his own house – again." She sighed. "Which, as it turns out, is good for us, as he seems to have time to do some research." Quickly she whispered what Draco had revealed her that morning. And the faces of her two friends echoed their surprise.

"Wow!" was all Harry could say, after Hermione finished the brief report.

Ginny shook her head. "I don't know what to think of our visitors – traitors, geniuses or poor souls."

Hermione grimaced. "Probably a mixture of all three." She rose, having barely eaten anything. "Off to the Quidditch pitch, you two, I'll read over the news from my mom. 'Til later!" She caught Draco's smile from across the hall, then left, clutching the precious envelope.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

While the Gryffindor-team was practicing for the Quidditch match one week off, glad to train in the arena again even without Ron, Hermione was reading over the documents her mother had sent her. Dr. Granger hadn't found out much new about the dolls or the symbols, mostly repeating what Hermione already had discovered in the library. But there was something else that immediately caught her attention. Her mother had added two clippings concerning the last robbery in the British Museum and, knowing her daughter as she did, had researched the dynasty to which the stolen Egyptian artefacts had belonged: the Ramses dynasty.

And not knowing the help she had given the wizardry world with this, she showed Hermione and the others the direction they should look where the answers to all the riddles would be found.

Hermione's eyes were the size of saucers as she read the clippings and the reports of the Ramses pharaohs. She almost heard 'click' in her mind as she went through the lines describing the mysterious death of Ramses III and the stolen artefacts. Then, as if suddenly bitten in the bum, she shot out of her seat and raced out of their dormitory. It was lunchtime and she hoped that the others would take the break during their Quidditch practice so that she could share with them what she found out. But their seats were empty, including Luna's. Muttering against Quidditch, she pondered if she should use the summoning coins to alert them, but decided against it. If Ginny and Harry were still in midair and the coins suddenly grew hot, the distraction might render them easy targets for the Bludgers.

Her dancing gaze landed on the Slytherin-table, and she recognized the silver-blond head. She hopped up, hastening toward the other table, ignoring the unfriendly looks thrown her way as she dashed to her Head-partner. He let his spoon sink the moment he realized she was behind him. She took his wrist and muttered, "Quick! An emergency!" Draco had barely time to put his napkin on the table as Hermione pulled at his arm.

"Dammit, Granger, I'm eating!" he protested, but she would have nothing of it.

"No time, you can eat later. Come on!" she urged.

Knowing his partner well enough by now to realize that she wouldn't back down, he rose off the bench, frowning. "If this isn't important..." he growled, but Hermione simply dragged him with her.

"It is. HURRY!"

The Greengrass-sisters stared after them, Daphne shaking her head. "Can you imagine? That Mudbl… that wretched bookworm ordering our Head around?"

Astoria snorted. "Huh. He lets her." She grimaced. "Really, Draco, you should put her in her place!" she called after him, but was completely ignored.

Graham snickered. "I can imagine exactly where that place might be!" he remarked suggestively.

The two girls looked at him with disgust, and Abdel chuckled, sensing the deep emotions running through his pale friend and the 'lioness.'

Draco followed Hermione out of the Great Hall and straight to their dormitory. "Merlin, Granger, what _happened_?" he demanded. Not that he minded following her (which was a lovely sight) but he didn't like it when he was interrupted during a meal.

"Not here!" she panted, gave the password to the portrait and slipped inside; her fingers still fastened around Draco's wrist. She pulled him to the seating group where several pages of printout with the strange printing were spread.

"Granger…" he began, but she stopped him.

"Listen, my mother didn't find out anything new about the dolls, but she got me a bundle of information which helps explain the mystery. The night you were attacked and Philip saw Layla transmogrifying from a mist, there was a robbery in the British Museum – in the Egyptian exhibition." She took the two clippings handing them to him. "Here," she pointed to three parts she had marked with ink. "In the first article, they said that the thieves were successful in stealing some very old and valuable artefacts, among them an old papyrus of the report of the trial concerning Ramses III's death, as well as other items, a spear from that period, an urn, and a rare earthenware."

Draco scanned the two clippings, frowning. "They mention here that the thieves escaped without a trace and that the security cameras didn't catch a single clear picture of the thieves – or thief. There was only a shadow that was impossible to identify."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Illusion charm. I'm certain of it. One of our 'friends' broke into the museum, and since Harry and I saw Abdel, Edis and Neriman on the map, then Layla has to be the one who was away from Hogwarts." She took several out sheets of paper. "But that's not all. My mother researched Ramses III on the internet, and learned that the stolen artefacts are all connected to him." She showed Draco the pictures and drawings, as well as the reports her mother sent. "Ramses III was murdered in a complot in which members of the harem and even some of the palace guards were involved. The complot was discovered before it could take full place during the spring feast. The rebellious guards and their allies were killed or taken captive, among them, several women from the harem as well as Ramses' own son. But even though the conspiracy was discovered, Ramses died – by a mysterious ailment that drained his strength. It took several days, and even his best healers couldn't help him."

Hermione pulled out another sheet. "And here's the solution no Muggle would ever believe possible: magic." She waved the printout in front of Draco's curious face. "Among the conspirators was ... the former overseer of the royal herds – a _wizard_! And he was accused of hexing the pharaoh. They found out that he was responsible for Pharaoh's death. He learned of magic in the library of Thebes. And you know what this library held?"

The Head-Boy nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, rare documents of black magic – the source of the Dark Arts." His silver eyes grew wider. "So… this all has to do with this ancient herder, who turned out to be a wizard?"

Hermione shrugged. "Possibly. Mom learned that the papyrus wasn't completely translated, but the philologists knew that it was written by Ramses IV, who witnessed the trial after his father's death and the condemnation of his half brother, who led the conspiracy together with his mother and the other traitors. _Something_ happened during this trial, but what isn't mentioned on this ancient document. But considering that only artefacts from that period were stolen by our visitors, and that obviously a dark wizard was responsible for the Pharaoh's death, I daresay that herein lies the answer to an important question: why are they doing this? It must have to do with that wizard. I'd bet my shirt on it!"

A small smirk. "I'll take that shirt, Granger. I rather like you without it, you know."

Hermione stuck out her tongue at him and mumbled something. Turning serious again, she added, "When we find out more about this wizard, I think we might have the solution to all of our questions."

Cocking his head, Malfoy pursed his lips. "He might be mentioned in one of the books in the forbidden part of the library. Or Binns might have heard of him. After all, he is the professor for Magical History."

Pushing her hair behind her ear, Hermione chewed her lower lip. "Yes, but we have to be careful. If Binns advises us to go to Ghani, or even mentions our questions to him, they'll know immediately that we're on their trail." She sighed. "I'll check in the library again, and when I'm home for Christmas, I think I'll search the internet again. Now, after we get some sort of direction, we will make more progress." She glanced up at him. "Perhaps you could, um, …" she bit her lips and cleared her throat, "or you could contact…"

"-my father again and ask him if he ever heard anything about a dark wizard who lived several thousand years ago?" Draco made a face. "He's no fool. He's sure to get suspicious, after everything I've asked him already."

Hermione smiled appealingly. "Well, your library at home holds more of the dark stuff and therefore likely to tell us more. And, by the way, you could explain to your father that your questions still concern this … competition, or whatever you used as excuse the last time."

Groaning Draco, dropped onto her sofa. "I do not like lying to my father, Kitten. And believe me, he will get suspicious this time."

"But you are such a clever Slytherin, so you will certainly concoct something to reassure him."

She fluttered her eyelashes at him and he took a deep breath. "The things I'm ready to do for you…" he murmured, then rose and pulled her against him, the memory of that morning still fresh in his pores, being near her like this again awoke the yearning stronger than before. Putting his mouth to her ear he whispered: "Your debt load is increasing, Granger. And I _will_ collect." He felt her shiver and touched his lips to the smooth skin just beneath her ear – a sensitive spot he had come to know. "And I'm certain that you will enjoy every moment of it!" His voice was a husky whisper, and he gently nipped once again at the place he knew would make her knees weak. Her short gasp revealed that he was pushing the right button. Smiling he held her a moment longer, stole a short fierce kiss, then released her and strolled toward his room. "I'll write my father and send the letter after our meeting."

He glanced back and saw her standing where he'd left her; eyes wide, lips parted, cheeks pink. And then, suddenly, her lips fell to a pout – and Draco had to laugh. "How does your own medicine taste, Granger?" he teased her, remembering the moment several days before when she had run away 'to write the letter to her mother', after Slughorn had interrupted them.

Hermione felt the blood rushing to her face, seeing the connection immediately, began her rebuke. "I know that you want me, Kitten. But it's broad daylight and even I have my standards, so please wait until it's dark outside. It's more romantic then and -" He made a quick getaway when her wand came out and she shouted, "_Rictusempra_!"

He dodged the tickling spell, remembering the effect when Potter used it on him in their second year with the Duelling Club. "Not fair!" he called, racing up the few steps to his room. "After all, you at least felt my hands on you when I tickled you, but I wouldn't feel your sweet fingers on _me_, when –"

"_MALFOY_!"

Her screech was high enough to call dogs, and laughing he shut the door behind him, smiling when he heard her scream of – frustration?—through the door. _'Soon, little Gryffindor! Soon you will call my name in a voice none other have heard!'_

TBC…

_Promised too much? I do hope not (laugh). And regarding the four Egyptians you will get more and more surprises, just wait!_

_The next chapter will be published at Friday, this much I can tell you in advance – oh, and that there will be Quidditch involved and rueful 'sorry' of a bad-tempered young man…_

_Until soon,_

_Please, please leave some reviews,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	37. Secrets and Apologies

_Hallo, my dear Readers,_

_As promised you get the new chapter at Friday – and I do think the title says a lot what is to come in the next part (laugh)._

_Thank you so much for the reviews,_

_Have Fun with chappi 36,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 36 – Secrets and Apologies**

The Prefects' meeting took forever, in Hermione's and Draco's opinion. The Prefects were discussing the decorations for Hogwarts for the Advent, knowing full well that most of it would be done by the professors. And this was the fourth meeting they had about the Christmas party, before turning to other school matters, like problems in class, minor dramas between students, misplaced Detentions, test results, and so on.

Finally Draco had had enough, declaring that they all turn over the 'false' test results as reports to him and Hermione, agreed with the slight change in the patrol schedule, and finally booked all of the next Quidditch practices, before he dismissed them. One by one the Prefects went away – all, except for the members of the DA, and Harry was at the entrance only a moment later. He'd waited for half an hour near the Head's dorms, until the summoning coin warmed, and he received Hermione's secret message that the meeting was over, his signal to come.

Ten minutes later, all of the members of the DA, minus Ron, were gathered and the two senior students relayed the information they'd learned that day. Heated words were heard, everyone feeling uncertain and somewhat betrayed by the four, but again it was the Gryffindor Queen who pointed out that their visitors could be up to something bad OR good; possibly trying to prevent some dark and dreadful event. The point she was able to convey was: Yes, of course, stealing was wrong, and if one of their teens or all four were responsible for the break-ins, then it argued against them planning anything good, and; No, they weren't guilty until evil intent was proven, and as long as they didn't know exactly why the artefacts were needed and how the long-dead wizard was connected to their activities, most of the DA were willing to 'wait and see'.

They concluded they should do more research in the library, and were glad that Draco said he would contact his father again, hoping that the former Death Eater would find additional information they could use to unravel the knot their guests had posed.

"Don't you think your father might get suspicious if you ask him again for something about ancient Egyptian magic?" Harry asked carefully.

Malfoy shrugged, catching a gaze from Hermione. "I'll come up with some plausible excuse. Besides, I already promised our Head-Girl I'd risk it."

Again the boy-who-lived could only stare at the Slytherin-Prince, now sitting near Hermione, reminding him that Draco had every right to be there. _'__What is going on between those two?'_

They all went off to dinner together when they were done with their meeting. Ron had to stay in the Gryffindor tower; ten days of his two weeks' grounding still ahead of him. Hermione sighed at the thought of him. She knew that he often felt himself the underdog, first at home (having grown up with five elder brothers) and sometimes even in Hogwarts. This was especially apparent during their fourth year, when Harry's name was spat out by the Goblet of Fire. Ron quickly grew jealous (nothing new) but she knew his jealousy was not rooted in resentment, but in the fear of being left out. But this time she couldn't help but think he deserved the punishment. He'd overstepped it, and maybe the time alone would help him think straight for a change.

Chattering with the others, including an excited Neriman who gotten a letter from her parents, dinner passed and Hermione accompanied the others to the Gryffindor common room. After all, it was Sunday. Even if tomorrow was a school day, she was accustomed to staying with her friends during the weekends. Ron was in one of the armchairs by the fireplace when they arrived. He glanced up at her, frowned and went back to looking at the fire, obviously sulking. He'd taken Harry's speech after the combat to heart, and his mind was telling him that his friend had been right. But his stubborn heart wasn't ready to give in. He knew that this was one of his biggest faults, but – as before on such occasions – he simply couldn't find the determination to let go of the grudge, or to apologize.

Nevertheless Hermione, had a nice evening with the Gryffindors, lost against Harry in wizard chess – yes, she was the most intelligent of the trio, but really was bad at chess – and helped Ginny with Arithmancy and Wilhelmina with Ancient Runes. Shortly before ten o'clock, the Queen bid her friends and fellow good-night, and Harry walked her back to the Head students' dorm, officially in case Peeves went after her. In truth, he wanted to make sure that she didn't cross paths with one of the Egyptians, and possibly changed into a mummy. Smiling at his chivalry – _'__I wonder if__ Harry and Draco realize how similar they are?' _– Hermione gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before she vanished into the dormitory, making Harry grin at the gesture. She was family, the little sister he never had (even though half a year older than he).

Draco was nowhere to be seen, spending his evening with Graham, Patrick and Abdel, and so Hermione retreated to her room, ready to go to bed, and read a wizard novel she borrowed in the library. Contrary to the general belief, she also read things other than school and science and history books, and she was curious how this story would unfold. She'd barely finished in the bathroom when she heard Draco entering the common room. Odd. She felt more comfortable with him being around; somehow… safer.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Monday went by in an unusually mundane manner, and after Hermione spent more time in the library, she returned after dinner to the Heads' dormitory to study for their upcoming tests. Draco offered her to help her with Charms, because he already knew what advanced charms Flitwick required. Hermione gladly took his offer and the two worked their homework together. The Gryffindor-Queen gave the Slytherin-Prince a good laugh with her attempts to master the required charms that caused her sofa to fly. His laughter was intoxicating, and Hermione found herself laughing along with him, watching the bobbling furniture.

"Trying to make Quidditch more comfortable, more ladylike, by replacing the brooms with flying sofas?" he teased.

Rolling her twinkling eyes, Hermione stuck her tongue out at him from across the room, folded her arms and pretended to pout – a sight quite tempting to Draco, but he stopped himself. They still had a lot of homework to do. Additionally, they had to-

A male voice from behind suddenly made them both jump. "May I join the joke, Draco?"

Hermione gasped and Draco leapt from his sofa and whirled, wand raised. Then he saw the face of Lucius Malfoy rising from the green flames and relaxed. "Father! You startled me!"

"The flying settee startled me, as well."

A ghost of humour was in his voice. Draco rolled his eyes. "Na, a charm went wrong, that's all." He knelt down in front of the fireplace, blocking his father's view of Hermione. He didn't want his father seeing her, possibly withholding information because of her presence. She took the hint and stood very still in a darker part of the room. "What can I do for you, Father?"

The curved brow on the proud face was lifted. "I do think it's the other way around, my son. It's time for you to tell my why you need to know so much about the ancient magic of Egypt. And now, even about a dark wizard killing one of the old kings?" Draco frowned and looked over his shoulder at Hermione – a gesture Lucius didn't miss. "Who is there with you?" his father snapped.

"No one is here. The sofa distracted me," Draco mumbled quickly, for indeed, it had bumped into the wall.

Lucius nodded. "Well, why the sudden interest?"

"Because of our guest students," the younger Malfoy answered. "It's … a kind of riddle we have to solve … sort of like a game, as I already told you." Draco kept his face expressionless, even if he felt disquieted. He didn't like to lie to his father, but if he told him the truth about their very excellent reasons, Lucius would be into the Headmistress' Office demanding answers quicker than Draco could get to his feet.

Whether he bought Draco's excuse was not apparent. He only stared at his son for a long moment, then he slowly replied: "The sketch of the doll you sent me revealed a history of a very ancient, dark and powerful magic. And now you want to know about a wizard who lived more than three thousand years ago and had his own following. It's quite strange that Hogwarts' guests are playing with this knowledge."

Behind Draco Hermione's eyes went wide. _'__That wizard had his own following? Like Voldemort? Sweet Merlin, maybe we are really WERE on the right track!'_

Draco stored this piece of information deep in his mind, but was concentrating on something else just now: finding a good excuse to keep his father from growing more suspicious than he already was. "They don't think we'll learn enough to solve the riddle they gave us in private, but there they're wrong. It's a question of honour that a Malfoy always finds a way to win the game." He flashed his father a confident smile, before he continued: "Concerning the dolls, I remembered that I saw those signs when I was younger, remember? And that ancient wizard? They said that Egypt had its own 'Voldemort' a long time ago, but that we would never found out who it was. Well, they're wrong! I'm determined to prove the opposite! And the one I asked you about was the best candidate I've discovered so far."

Again the older Malfoy was quiet for a moment, before he answered: "What do you already know about this man?"

"He was a guard of the royal herds and was a part of a conspiracy against Ramses III," Draco ticked off the points on his fingers, sitting on his heels. "He studied at the library in Thebes and was brought to trial after Ramses was murdered. He was accused of causing the king's death and using magic. And, there is a report that something strange happened during the trial. That's pretty much it."

Lucius nodded in the green flames, sending new sparks up through the chimney. "That isn't much, but because you know the time period I do think I can find something out." He cleared his throat. "And those dolls – how did you know about them?"

"They were placed in the beds of our guest students when they'd left the dorms. I do think that they can trick the wards, or possibly are linked with Abdel and the others – like a Voodoo doll," Draco replied warily, careful not to reveal too much. HOW could he explain his father that those dolls assumed the identity of the four Egyptian students, and even deceived an enchanted map? Or that he even knew about an enchanted map_?_

"Correct. They're created for that purpose, as I already wrote you. That event you're researching is connected with the beginning of the Dark Arts three or four thousand years ago." He saw the interest in Draco's expression, and added, "That kind of magic is just that old and, as a result, extremely powerful. Now you can understand why I wanted to contact you about your requests for this information."

"Yes, but…"

"Draco, you do know that we are still being observed. And that all of us – your mother, you and I – will get into a lot of trouble if the Aurors learn that you are asking for information about the roots of the Dark Arts and I give it to you. That kind of magic has its own power. It is not so well researched and formulaic as accepted magic, but it is nevertheless very dangerous. Many spells, hexes and curses were developed from these early attempts and were refined. And now you want information about an ancient wizard who is perhaps comparable with Voldemort. If someone besides us learns about this request, we will face trial again – at least you will."

Draco took a deep breath, voicing his answer carefully: "Father, I do know that it looks rather odd that I'm asking these details, but I can reassure you that I am not planning anything stupid with this knowledge." He shrugged. "It's just research. Our guests showed some very interesting defensive spells, and told us that many of the charms and hexes we're using today are rooted in the Egyptian past. Several came from the Greeks who stole the knowledge from the Egyptians when they conquered their land. So, the first real roots are Egyptian."

"And Chinese," Lucius added, "but seeing that Hogwarts hosts no students from there, your interest lies mainly in the Egyptian magical history." He sighed. "I will help. But I will not send word to you by owl or the floo network. You will have to wait until you're home for Christmas. Will that be sufficient?"

Draco smiled broadly. There were only four weeks left until the holidays. "Of course, Father. Thank you very much."

Lucius nodded, frowning. "All right. Good night, my son and your mother sends her love."

"Thank you, Father, and mine to her, too."

The head in the fireplace vanished with a loud hiss, and the two Head Students were alone again. Draco rose and turned around towards Hermione, whose face revealed her excitement.

"That went better than it could have! And your father already knows something about the wizard."

Draco blinked, confused. "What?"

"Of course! Otherwise he wouldn't have mentioned that our wizard had his own followers. How would he know this detail if he didn't know of whom you spoke?"

The Head-Boy shook his head. "Really, Granger, sometimes you're eerie. Your logic is-"

A loud _whump_ made them both jump, wands drawn. The golden sofa had fallen from near the ceiling as the charm wore off, and the noise had been deafening. The senior students looked at the harmless item that sat before them as if nothing happened. Then they glanced up to the ceiling and then at each other – and burst out laughing.

"Well, should the brooms ever be replaced by flying sofas, that charm will be perfect!" Draco chuckled and Hermione dropped on his sofa again, holding her belly with laughter, glad to relax after holding her breath while Malfoy Maximus attended Malfoy the Younger.

They were making progress, Malfoy had made her laugh, again, and as she looked up into his smiling features, she felt warmth spreading through her like the first rays of the sun after a long, hard winter.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Speaking of winter, Thursday it began to snow. When the students and the staff went to bed Wednesday evening, it was raining, and when the first inhabitants of Hogwarts awoke, they discovered the landscape had changed. Where fall had stripped the trees and turned the hills brown, shimmering white now greeted the eyes. Thick flakes fell silently from a grey-blue sky, and the air was cold and fresh as only snowfall could create. Silence had spread over the countryside – the mysterious and well-known quietude of winter, when snow muffles all noises and sounds and the semblance of peace reigns.

The school emptied after the lunch period, during the midday break, and the peace was broken by a delightfully fierce snowball fight where nearly everyone joined. Which greatly irritated Filch, who kept insisting that everyone 'stop this foolishness before you break a window', but – of course – no one listened. And when Professor McGonagall passed the nasty caretaker berating two frightened first-years, she hit the caretaker with a silencing spell that no one could remove, but would "wear off within the next couple of hours," as Professor Abdelghani explained with a shrug to a furious Filch. Of course the professor knew the counter spell, but after he caught several pleading looks from the younger students, Ghani made up the excuse, and the snowball fight continued. The muted caretaker stomped away. Ghani had to grin and joined the impromptu battle, delighting in the new sensations of snow and its marvellously malleable properties. Minerva, knowing full well that this was a very small complot, returned into her warm office, amused and grateful that after the war so many students could enjoy the innocent pleasures of a snowball fight or building snowmen with wand or with gloved hands.

Friday came finally, with everyone looking forward to the upcoming Quidditch match the next day. Except Harry. He was at the edge of desperation because of one very important detail: it looked as if Gryffindor would be without a Keeper tomorrow, the one who guarded the goals, flying around the three hoops. Ron had swallowed his pride and made up his mind to apologize to Hermione on Wednesday, but the Head-Girl had only shown him the cold shoulder, ignoring him. It happened again on Thursday and now, there was only one day left until the Quidditch game. Harry had prepared for everything, training with Ron in secret in their bedroom, getting the idea of it while they were confined to the Great Hall for practice. The bedroom up in the Gryffindor tower was not large, but after Ginny shrank the furniture and trunks, and Harry shielded the windows, he trained with Ron by flinging Quaffles at him, one after the other, while Ron had to block them. Because of the small room he had to manoeuvre quickly and precisely, and his reflexes had grown more keen, along with his confidence.

But now, Friday evening, it didn't look as if there would be a Gryffindor Keeper tomorrow and Harry was growing edgy because of it. Sitting next to Hermione this time and facing Ginny, he could bear it no longer. During dessert, he cleared his throat. "Have you and Ron spoken with each other?"

She looked at him, frowning. "What? Why?"

Groaning, Ginny glared at her friend. "Mione, did he apologize to you?"

Silence spread up and down the table, before Hermione stuttered: "He… He…"

"He _tried_ to apologize to you – twice!" Harry said, lowering his spoon, watching her with disbelief and frustration. "But how can he tell you he's sorry if you won't even stand still for it?"

Blood rushed into Hermione's face. "I didn't run away, Harry, I was just not any state to talk with him about his abominable behaviour!"

Harry sighed. "Mione, that was last week. And he is very sorry about what he did. I know it. We've discussed it repeatedly, and … and he really feels awful, and he does want to apologize. I was there when he tried."

Hermione stared at him. "During class or just before Detention he wants to talk with me about something like _this_? Like talking about cricket scores? Why, I wouldn't-"

"Hermione, you're avoiding him," Ginny said calmly, heading off a tirade. "Of course I understand your feelings, but he truly wants to make it right with you. Think about it, he's a _guy_. He'll choose the wrong places and times, but his heart is in the right place. Don't you think that you should give him at least the chance? The only time he can get to you is between classes, so…" She smiled hopefully at her friend.

The Head-Girl was about to retort something, her eyes beginning to blaze, but closed her mouth when she felt a none-too-gentle kick near her ankle, coming from both Harry _and_ Ginny. She didn't know about the little deal between Draco and Ron, because Harry and Ginny had thought it better to keep it a secret or Hermione would believe that Ron only wanted to apologize in order to play on Saturday. Therefore she couldn't understand why her friend was bringing up this topic now, but as she looked up and down the table and saw only hopeful faces, she was baffled. "What…" She glanced at Harry, who wore an expression innocent as a newborn's, and then at Ginny, who was pleading with her eyes, the truth became obvious.

"This has something to do with tomorrow's Quidditch match, doesn't it?" Silence was her answer, accompanied by some nervous shifting, uncertain glances or sudden avoidance of eye contact. "Harry ...?"

It was more a demand than anything else and Potter sighed, looking at his Ginny for support. Ginny took the matter into her own hands, again echoing Mrs. Weasley's many competencies. "Malfoy is ready to spare Ron tomorrow's Detention when he has apologized to you."

Hermione gaped at her.

"Well, he didn't want to handicap our team by removing our Keeper," Harry added. "He thinks that his team-"

"He thinks that it wouldn't be fair to punish our whole house because of Ron's stupid behaviour. He didn't even take any points from us," Ginevra quickly added, not wanting Harry to spoil the whole thing by referring to the Quidditch cup. She knew how touchy Hermione was about the matter, and asking her to accept Ron's apology only to support a Quidditch match was definitely not the right way to approach this.

But Hermione wouldn't be Hermione of she couldn't see through her ginger-haired friend instantly. "So, you want me to talk to your brother so that he can play in the match tomorrow?"

Ginny shrugged. "You can be angry with him as long as you want, but please allow him to apologize to you, or tomorrow we stand no chance against Ravenclaw."

Groaning, Hermione banged her head several times against the table beside her plate. "Why me!"

"Mione!" Harry said gently. "Please! It's for Gryffindor. This is our last year here in Hogwarts, and until now, Gryffindor and Slytherin are even concerning who has won the cup while we were attending school. I so do _not_ want to watch them regain the cup this year." And placed an arm around her shoulder. "And, by the way, everyone makes mistakes – because none of us is perfect. Even Dumbledore made mistakes, and that's what made him so human and lovable." She turned her head to look at him, and he met her eyes. "And think about what his portrait would say if we win the house cup this year. We were some of his favourite students, and I do think we owe it to him to win the cup this year after we returned to Hogwarts, and after all he did for us."

Hermione moaned. "Harry, it isn't fair, bringing up Dumbledore! He-"

"He isn't with us any longer, yes, but his memories still live in his portrait, and how proud he would be if his long-time friend, Professor McGonagall, could tell him that Gryffindor, the house she led all those years and the one he attended as student, too, won the _house cup_." Harry was pouring it on, seeing that her armour was cracking.

Growling Hermione looked up at him. "That's not fair, Harry! You know it!" She met his hopeful glance and groaned. Her eyes found Ginny's, and they were pleading silently with her, and sighing, she gave in. First, she didn't want to be the one to mess up tomorrow's match. Second, she didn't want to be responsible for throwing away Gryffindor's chance at winning the house cup this year (Slytherin had won it far too often for her taste and was still the closest rival again this year.) Third, she did want to honour Dumbledore's memory by making his portrait and their head-of-house unhappy. Fourth, she didn't want to disappoint and anger her friends and house mates any more than she had. After all, she did have a certain secret concerning a particular Slytherin, and if Ron's accusations were about to become true, then fifth, she would need any ally she could get and – oh no! Now she was even _thinking_ like a damned Slytherin! Draco had too much influence on her already! (Yes, she actually numbered her reasons for changing her mind. That made them more easily accessible later, if she had to figure out what she'd done wrong.)

Losing whatever appetite she'd had, she threw her napkin beside her empty plate and glared at her friends. "All right, you win! I'll talk with Ron – but only because of you all!" She pointed a finger around, sending glares at her house mates. "And give us a few minutes before you all come running up to the tower!" she ordered.

Eager nods around her and the relieved smiles of Harry and Ginny were answer enough, and sighing, she stepped out of the bench, asking herself why she was doing this, and going over the reasons again, one by one. Sighing she left the Great Hall, heading towards the Gryffindor Tower.

She didn't see the wary glance of Malfoy, who watched her leave after her house had persuaded her about something. And regarding the upcoming match tomorrow, he had a pretty good idea to where (and more importantly, to whom) she was going. Irritation scratched at his mood. If that idiot hurt her again, he would personally land that Weasel in the hospital wing for a _long_ time! But if that git really apologized to her and she accepted it, he – Draco – would have remain true to his word and release the Weasel from tomorrow's Detention to join the Gryffindor Quidditch team as Keeper. He sighed inwardly. He did _not_ want to let his rival off the hook, but if Weasley truly told Hermione he was sorry, then Draco would have to admit the deal he somehow made with Potter to McGonagall. His stomach twisted inside him.

Hermione didn't know about her Head-Partner's thoughts and the jealousy that bubbled in his stomach as she went up to the Gryffindor tower, gave the Fat Lady the password and entered the cosy common room. Ron sat in one of the armchairs but turned around and quickly jumped up, as he saw her. Crossing her arms and looking straight at her long-time friend, who might have become more to her someday, Hermione watched. Yes, she still loved him deeply – the reason why his words had hurt her so terribly – but with a soft shock in her subconscious, she realized that the forbidden thrill wasn't there like it was whenever Malfoy was near.

Clearing her throat, she lifted her chin. "Harry said you wanted to talk to me. Well, here I am."

A long moment stretched across the room between them, interrupted only by the crackling of the fire, then Ron took a deep, shaky breath. To be here with her, alone, was scrambling his thinking again. She always seemed so collected and controlled, but he knew the fire that was burning beneath her calm demeanour. He always felt inferior to her in such moments, and it didn't make it easier for him to say what he'd been meaning to say to her for days now.

"Hermione, I…" He gulped. "I am sorry. I am really sorry about what happened. I…" he searched for the right words, "I had no right to yell at you like I did and … I apologize for everything I said." He self-consciously flattened his tousled red curls and mumbled: "You know me. I … I just got jealous and … Well, it snapped when I saw you with the Ferret."

Hermione watched him warily. Her feelings were troubled as she answered quietly, "You're right, Ron, I know you. I know that your control is anything but perfect and that you overreact quickly. But this time you really hurt me."

Ron lowered his head: "I'm sorry, Hermione, and…" He took another deep breath, glanced uncertainly around him and said quietly: "Like I said, I am sorry how I behaved. I know that I overdid it and … well … I was … I _am_ jealous." His gaze found hers and shaking his head he continued: "Besides Harry, you're my best friend and … and I have more feelings for you than just friendship. And to see you together with that smug, arrogant prick made me so angry, and you know that when I'm angry I … I overdo it." He cleared his throat. "So, what I want to say is, I'm sorry that I accused you of falling for that git and said you betrayed me behind my back. I should know better. You're the most loyal soul I ever met and… and I was also mad because I thought he would only use you and then hurt you afterwards. And I couldn't watch that happen, or even let it happen. You mean too much to me." He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "So … I do apologize and hope that you will forgive me for being … the complete bastard I accused him of being."

Hermione was silent again for a long moment, then she answered: "You hurt me a lot, Ron, more than you think. You accused me of something without knowing anything about it, or having proof of it being true. You simply imagined some whatever you wanted and acted on it, without considering fully if it was right or wrong. You-"

He sighed and interrupted her: "Hermione, I'm not blind. I saw the way Malfoy looked at you – still does, for pity's sake! I saw all those little gestures he uses, proof enough that he is attempting to lull you into trusting him. Then after you started to defend him at any opportunity, I was sure he was winning his silly game. Yes, he rescued you and stood up for you, but experience tells me he didn't do it out of a good heart. He's planning something, and no one wants to see it – not even Harry, if I read his decision right, letting Malfoy in the DA."

"You-"

He moved tentatively toward her and rested a hand on her arm. "Mione, I don't want to see you get hurt or abused in any way, and I know it will happen if you trust that fiend like you seem to."

Groaning, Hermione walked to one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace and sat down, dropping her head into one of her hands. How could she tell Ron that Draco really could be trusted now without proving that his accusations were correct? That the Prince of Slytherin was a friend to her by now, judging from his behaviour? She would only reveal how close she and Malfoy had become, even if nothing had happened besides some heated snogging. And she knew that this would continue – and more. They both hungered for each other, and she knew that it was only a question of time until their control broke with repeated contact, which would lead to things Hermione didn't dare to think of it just now, not here, not with Ron.

She sighed. She needed a plan. First, she had to convince Ron that Draco wasn't a danger to her – or to any of them. The sooner Ron accepted that, the better for them all. They had other problems than jealousy and mixed emotions, which would flare up soon enough again the moment her friends learned of her forbidden feelings.

She cleared her throat, ready to straighten out the things which were most important to her concerning her relationship with her friend. "Listen, Ron, I do know that you love me – as a friend or more – but you should understand that I am my own person. You not only accused me of things which weren't true, but you also tried to order me around, which I will not permit."

"I was only worried …" he began, but Hermione interrupted him softly, looking up to him as he stood beside her.

"I know, Ron, and I'm grateful for your concern, but your anger should never allow you to shout at me if I don't do as you want. I am an adult, Ron, and no one needs to treat me like little girl. After all I've been through, I think I'm capable of making my own decisions and living with the consequences. Now, referring to Draco, he _has_ changed. He isn't the enemy, Ron, but an ally – and my rescuer. We are growing closer, I will not deny this," she saw his eyes widening in shock, and continued, "and you have no right to damn me now. You showed me pretty well that you think of me as something you own. I do love you, Ron, I really do, and I do understand that you've suffered from Fred's death, but don't accuse those who had no hand in it."

"Death Eaters killed him and -!"

"Yes, _Death Eaters, _Ron – fully grown wizards and witches, choosing the Dark Side and enjoying the torture of others. But Draco was never one of them. Not really. He was forced into their circle to save his parents. And he tried to keep Harry safe in the Room of Requirements, when Crabbe was about to kill him. And he didn't give Harry away when we were brought to Malfoy Manor. Harry has given him the benefit of any doubt, and so do I. Maybe someday, when your grief isn't so keen anymore, and you've managed to put some distance between yourself and the horror we all went through, you will feel the same."

Ron swallowed hard. These were almost the same words Harry had used the evening after their shouting match, and he understood – of course – that both of his friends were right. Draco Malfoy hadn't a hand in what had happened to the Weasley family, and it certainly wasn't his fault that Bellatrix had used an unforgiveable curse against Hermione. But still the deep resentment wouldn't disperse so quickly. Ron didn't want to discuss the arrogant Slytherin-Prince right now. There were other matters at hand – matters far more important to him. "Mione, this isn't about Malfoy, but about you and me. I … do understand that you have learned to work with him. You have to work with each other, and you were right when you said it is better this way – easier for you. But please understand me. I love you, Hermione Granger, and the thought of someone else trying to win you drives me bonkers."

Cocking her head, Hermione looked at him, a new guilt rising up in her. Ron was right: Draco tried to make her his, but there were other reasons for his slow but certain approaching victory than his devilish good looks and the temptation of the 'forbidden fruit'. "When someone is drawn to another, it is never a one-sided matter. There are many causes when two people grow apart and turn to others."

She saw him grow pale. She stood, and laid one hand on his fist. "But concerning your apology, Ron, I accept it – I'll forgive, but it will take some time to forget. You wounded me – in front of the whole school. You practically called me a slut because I can talk to another male." She watched him lowering his gaze and continued calmly. "We aren't engaged. We were building a relationship that goes beyond friendship. But if you think that I'll keep my distance from all men for the rest of my life, or ask your permission to make another friend, then you're wrong – and there will be no future for us."

The shock ran deep, and all of sudden, Ron realized that he had destroyed more than he'd known with his silly, jealous accusations and heated words. Hermione was a self-aware, strong young woman, no longer the lonely little bookworm with no friends as she had been in their first year. And she certainly wasn't the mousy little teenager anymore, uncertain of her appearance, struggling to find her best side, covering her insecurities with more knowledge than some of the teachers had. She had bloomed into a headstrong, warm, beautiful young woman, and had – despite the horror of the war – retained her faith in people. She would always offer help to anyone, would always stay true to those she loved, would always be the reasonable one, while he – Ronald Bilius Weasley – would always wear his heart on the sleeve, acting on his feelings before thinking twice. They would always have their differences, but this was a challenge he was willing to face.

"We all make mistakes," he mumbled, rubbing his neck. "You, Harry, me – even Dumbledore. And we all learned from them. So, if you give me a chance …"

She sighed deeply, hugging herself. "I never said I wouldn't give us a chance, Ron. I already have, beginning with the months I spent watching you and Lavender climbing all over each other, or when you left Harry and me out there in the wilderness last year." He started to retort, but she lifted a hand. "I know, you were under the influence of the Horcrux in the Slytherin medallion, but I think it must have found that tendency in you, forcing you to live out your frustration." She shook her head, biting her lips. "Think about it, Ron, and don't blame Malfoy for everything that doesn't go your way. I don't ask you to become best mates, but a civil acceptance and some courtesy is certainly expected."

Ron pressed his lips closed as he heard her doubts at their relationship. But this wasn't the reason for a new feeling of irritation scratching at him. Again, she had defended Malfoy between the lines, and remembering the way she clung to the Slytherin in Hogsmeade, saying that she was safe with _him_, Ron knew that he had to act. He had to make things right with her before that albino Ferret could steal her from him. He was not blind to the fact that Malfoy was an attractive bloke, and certainly had his charms. He just never thought that Hermione would fall for someone like that. And if he wanted to win her back, he had to do something about it.

Hiding his thoughts, he simply nodded. "I'll try, Mione."

She smiled wearily at him. "That's all I want." She turned, saying, "And now I have to tell my Head partner that you apologized and that he has to release you from tomorrow's Detention."

New jealously flamed up in Ron and made his face flushed. "You're going to him right now?" Then it hit him. "You knew that Malfoy agreed to let me off Detention, if-"

Hermione grimaced. "Yeah, Ginny told me." She saw him opening his mouth and lifted her hand again. "I know that you didn't apologize just because of the game. And I don't accept it because of that stupid game, because I know that you're honest in your regret. But think about what I told you, Ron. About _everything_ I said."

With a nod she left the Gryffindor tower, leaving a thoughtful and irritated wizard behind.

TBC…

_The next chapter will be a sweeeeeet one, this much I can tell you. And we are nearing Christmas now (ungh… not really, just have a look out of the window and at the next thermometer, giggle). There will be a lot of fun, and several small hot scenes between our two love-birds._

_I do hope you liked the last chapter, please, please leave some more reviews,_

_Have a nice weekend,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	38. Advent

_Hallo, my dear Readers,_

_I'm sorry that I didn't upload the next chapter already yesterday, but I was offline for three days. Ungh, incredible how much you can miss something like the internet._

_But now, off to Hogwarts. And even if we have something like an early summer in the moment, and therefore snow isn't not so easy imaginable, we are nearing Christmas in my story._

_There will be several sweet scenes in the new chapter, especially concerning our two Head-Students, while the tension between them is becoming more and more fiery. _

_Have fun, thank you so much for the last reviews,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 37 – Advent**

The raised stadium seating was crowded with the students, yellow and black, blue and gold, green and silver, and red and gold banners fluttered in the chill wind everywhere, the arena now filled with excited voices, screeches and shouts. The players stood on the Quidditch pitch, ready to take off.

Ron, now standing behind Harry, grinned at his sister beside him. He was glad to be released for one day to play for Gryffindor, even if he had to thank Malfoy for it. Well, _Harry_ and Malfoy. How the two had arranged the deal that he – Ron – would be allowed to skip Detention today if he apologized properly to Hermione was still beyond him, but he wasn't about to examine that proverbial gift horse in the mouth. He knew that he deserved what he got, and he attended Detention without complaining, but still he hated it.

Of course McGonagall was properly dumbfounded when Draco knocked politely at her door Friday evening, and informed her of the agreement with Harry concerning Ron Weasley. She held her tongue, wondering what had inspired this bit of skulduggery. But, a Head-Boy's word given to another student was his bond, and so the headmistress agreed to dismiss the grounding for one day. (Another part of her, the Gryffindor that lived deep in her heart, was relieved, knowing that their team now had a chance to win this game.)

Hermione, positioned beside Wilhelmina, applauded and whooped with all the others as the two captains down on the pitch shook hands. She wasn't a big Quidditch fan, but as soon as she stepped into the audience and watched a game, she couldn't resist the enthusiastic atmosphere. Then her gaze wandered along the rows beneath the green and silver banners and her glance landed on the blond head in the front row. Across the pitch, grey and brown met, and even over the distance she could see him grin. She knew his meeting with McGonagall had been uncomfortable, but he had kept his promise and she was, once again, grateful. The Ravenclaw team was in fantastic condition and she knew that Gryffindor would have no chance at all without Ron there as Keeper.

Madame Hooch gave her typical little speech about fair play, Harry and his rival shook hands, then they mounted their brooms and took to the air. Luna's dreamy voice echoed sweetly through the arena and you could tell she was neutral about reporting the action – she ignored both sides equally; seeing a Wrackspurt darting over the teacher's stands, or forgetting the players' names, or spotting a Augurey shape in the clouds. The commentary was almost as interesting as the game, and the players had to concentrate while trying not to laugh.

Neriman, two seats away from Hermione, wrapped in two comforters, shouted to her, "The teams are well matched!" Hermione – who had been avoiding the Egyptian students as a precaution – shouted back: "Just wait until Harry sees the Snitch. His Firebolt is amazing!"

The game continued, one goal after the other was made by both teams, and Ron performed admirably, blocking many more than made it through. The match was fast and fair, with brilliant strategies. And then, after two hours in the icy air and the first snow drifting down, the words they'd all been waiting for came.

"I think Harry has seen the Snitch!" Luna's voice floated over the Quidditch pitch, and the Gryffindor stands erupted in cheers and shouts, pointing as Harry careened after the little golden ball at breakneck speed, following its erratic path high above the field, his Ravenclaw rival immediately behind. Harry sped after the Snitch that darted higher and higher into the skies and vanished in the snow clouds, pursued by the two Seekers. Gulping, the Headmistress prayed that both would come out unharmed, raising her wand in preparation for a possible fall. Not to worry. A minute later both Seekers flew neck and neck out of the clouds again, the Snitch just in front of them – still the game was on.

Draco watched his former school enemy with rising tension. _'__Damn, Potter is in top form.'_ And as the snitch suddenly reversed its course, the boy-who-lived made and impossible turn, the Golden Snitch and the Ravenclaw Seeker suddenly beneath him. Malfoy was vividly reminded of his rescue last May in the Rooms of Requirement – Harry Potter was not one to give up. Harry suddenly wrapped his legs around the broomstick, and fell beneath it, dangling by one hand, echoing every twitch and dodge made by the Snitch, while the sharp expletive shouted by the Ravenclaw seeker was drowned out by a gasp from every voice in the stands.

Hermione screamed in shock and Draco heard it over the noise, but his attention was captured by Gryffindor's hero. Harry's free arm shot forwards and then the elusive Golden Snitch vanished into his fist.

"Well, it looks like the game has ended. Harry Potter caught the Golden Snitch, winning 150 points for Gryffindor. The match is over," Luna said mournfully, but her voice was drowned out by the roars and shouts of joy and triumph coming from the red and gold rows, while McGonagall's legendary control slipped, and she whooped in exultation. Rearranging her face, she collected her headmistress neutrality and smiled benignly at the teams congratulating each other on a "good game!" Clearing her throat, she straightened her tartan coat and applauded politely. Slughorn, who was in the row behind her, tapped her shoulder and chuckled: "Minerva, you aren't fooling anyone. We all know that you're a Gryffindor through and through, so let it out!"

And those students who glanced up at the teachers' tower almost choked when they saw Minerva McGonagall, the stern, reserved headmistress of the School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, jumping up and down and cheering like a fourteen-year old-girl.

The party lasted the whole afternoon and late into the night. Hermione had to leave the feast after dinner, because she, Malfoy, and the eldest Prefects had to oversee the finishing touches for the Advent celebration. Ginny and James Corrley, who were the seventh year Prefects, accompanied her, but seeing their condition, she dismissed them after half an hour, sending them back to the Gryffindor tower to continue the celebration.

"Are you sure you can manage without them, Granger?" Malfoy teased, as she pointed her wand at some candelabras to decorate them with non-melting ice. She looked up at him. "Why not?"

He smirked. "Well, after that party and all that wine and butterbeer…"

"I am not drunk!" she retorted.

"Shame!" he stated with a sigh. "It would be so much fun to see you 'under the influence'."

Shaking her head, she smiled sweetly. "Oh, I witnessed a very pointed example of a fellow student who was 'under the influence', and useless for some time after, so I decided to never touch alcohol again." She saw his expression fall and turned her back on him, grinning, pointing her wand again at the candelabra, but was interrupted by someone pressing himself against her back, warm breath on her cheek, while the scent of her Head-partner enveloped her.

"No fear, my Kitten, I would carry you to bed and make certain that you're _comfortable_!" he whispered in her ear. His left arm wrapped around her waist and his right hand reached out and cupped hers, the one holding her wand, and Hermione gulped at the soft touch. His hand was warm against the cool air around them, and it sent new shivers down her spine. "And I would hold you all night, sheltering you against the winter cold," he mumbled, his cheek brushing hers. He concentrated on his own magic, sending it through her wand, whispering: "_Glacius_!"

A stream of a white cloudy substance flowed from from the wandtip and floated around the arms of the candelabra, encasing it with a thin layer of clear ice. As she watched, she saw the glittering icicles form, and then freeze solid, where it would stay until released.

Hermione glanced at him and met his grey eyes, wearing an expression that took her breath away. Then his gaze wandered to her lips and her heart began to race. Would he… Would he really… Here? Would he…

"Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, are you finished?" squeaked a voice from behind them and as Draco turned his head, his face and movements calm, he found Flitwick near the entrance.

"No, Professor, I was just showing Hermione how to coat the candelabra in ice," he replied smoothly, while he felt Hermione flinch.

Filius Flitwick knew what he had interrupted – or prevented. He had no problem with the older students developing a romantic relationship, but seducing one out in the open? Well, that was going too far.

"Well done, Mr. Malfoy. Would you please accompany me to the Great Hall? And, Miss Granger? Your presence is required on the second floor. I think, Miss Horthwood has a problem with some recalcitrant armour."

Narrowing his eyes, Draco stepped away from Hermione, forcing a neutral expression on his features. "Of course, Professor." But inwardly he was cursing the tiny man.

Hermione didn't know what to think. She was relieved and disappointed by the interruption. Then she sighed.

She felt Draco squeezing her hand, before he followed Flitwick, winking at her. Rubbing her forehead, the Gryffindor-Queen sighed again – and then jumped when she heard Luna's thoughtful comment.

"Oh, are you two an item now? It was sure to happen, living so closely together, you know. Daddy wrote an article about in the _Quibbler_ several years ago."

Hermione whirled, but any retort caught in her throat, and Luna returned to decorating, humming an unfamiliar tune to herself.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next day was the first Sunday in Advent. When the students awoke, they found the castle shimmering with thousands of candles, evergreen swags winding the balustrades of the staircases and placed above the doors. Small golden figures of angels waved or winked at them, candelabras and columns glistened mysteriously, covered with 'permanent' ice, and bunches of mistletoe hung from the arches, specially enchanted. The first to fall prey to one of them were Harry and Ginny on their way to breakfast. Suddenly neither could move any further. One of the fourth-years pointed at the mistletoe above them, laughing. The decidedly floral voice whispered, 'Standing beneath me brings you a kiss's glee'.

Ginny, immediately taking the hint, pulled Harry, who looked dumbfounded, towards her and kissed him – right there, in front of the crowd of students and Professor Slughorn. The mistletoe reacted by sprinkling the couple with gold dust, then giggling, 'You're free to go!' Of course this new development immediately became common knowledge, as only gossip can, and soon any student with a secret crush on someone used the opportunity to get a kiss.

By Tuesday, McGonagall, who had acted on the idea given by Dumbledore's portrait, was ready to pull her hair out (figuratively speaking). Albus Dumbledore, the greatest headmaster that Hogwarts ever had, maintained a prankster's sense of humour, even in death, and she wished she'd never _heard_ of mistletoe.

Of course the enchanted mistletoes gave the Prefects and the two Head-Students plenty of work. It was one thing to be caught by accident, and entirely another to walk into it fully on purpose – especially as evening approached and later. As a result, Hermione and Draco had more patrols, breaking up the love birds whenever they caught them, but there were too many enchanted mistletoes and, even worse, they shifted locations. If one was in the Entrance Hall one day, it might turn into a harmless plant after a few hours hours, while one level above, an ordinary mistletoe took on the enchantment. Draco and Hermione learned quickly that the plants only caught students aged fifteen and above, and that the younger ones could pass under them without being bothered. It sometimes resulted in the most unusual pairings.

By dinner Monday, Hermione groaned: "One more excuse of mistletoe for a disgusting display of snogging in the hallways, and I'll rip the bloody things out and burn them all myself!"

Draco chuckled, enjoying the bright sensation of teasing her. "Lighten up, Granger. Kissing is fun, as you know by now. And if you can't remember, I'll be happy to refresh your memory." She glared at his smug expression, while he wriggled his eyebrows. In an instant, every episode of his lips touching her ran through her mind, including the brief, intense, and very protective kiss on her forehead in Hogsmeade. It occurred to her that the two of them could be caught together under the mischievous decorations while they were on patrol. And, she readily admitted to herself, she wouldn't mind it at all. She was hoping to feel his mouth on hers again soon, but she didn't know how to tell him that without feeling like a loose bint.

Clearing her throat she lifted her chin. "I'll keep that in mind, Malfoy. Maybe later."

He cocked his head. "I'm so looking forward to later!"

Blushing she grumbled something to herself, rose and headed for the door to go to dinner. "Look forward to it all you want, Draco-"

She was cut off as he reached her by the portrait door, spun her around and stole a kiss from her – quick, fierce. "It's 'later' now," he joked and held the door open for her. "After you, Kitten."

Slightly dizzy, willing her heart to return to a more normal pace, she crossed the threshold. Malfoy, congratulated himself, and licked the taste of her lips from his own, the flavour for which he had hungered for days.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The weather only grew colder and the snow deeper. The academic demands for the seventh-years increased. It seemed as if the teachers were cramming an entire month's work into every week and homework was piled on. Every free period was needed for study, while the Prefects and the Head-Students still had to patrol the hallways for those targeted by the mistletoes.

The upcoming Christmas ball needed additional attention. The two music groups performing – The Jolly Witches and The Swinging Harpies – kept changing their song lists and staging requirements. Flitwick was using the large room beside the Great Hall at every possible opportunity to rehearse his new orchestra. And, unbelievably, McGonagall disclosed that there was to be an opening dance for the Prefects and the sixth- and seventh-year students.

"If not for the war, the Tri-wizard Tournament would take place again this year, and a selection of you would be in Bulgaria or Paris to represent our school," she told them Thursday afternoon. She had gathered the older students of all four houses around her in the Entrance Hall, including Ron, who was finally finished with his grounding. "I will not allow that dreadful war to turn my students into social pariahs. You will learn how to behave and to dance!"

"But just a Christmas dance, not a Yule Ball!" a sixth-year Hufflepuff threw in – only do visible flinch when McGonagall's piercing gaze found her.

"There is no such thing as 'just', Miss Goodwond! There may not be the scores of visiting students, but we do have four here from Egypt. And this is the first Christmas in several without a threat of destruction hanging over our heads. Most importantly, Minister Shacklebolt and other important persons will be here to celebrate with us." Her stern glance swept over the stunned crowd. "So you all will learn how to move gracefully to the music." Her eyes fell on a gaping Ron, who, unfortunately, was shaking his head. "Including you, Mr. Weasley!" she snapped.

Groaning, Harry rubbed his the bridge of his nose under his glasses, remembering the awkward scene as he and the others opened the first dance at the Yule ball. He wasn't alone in this reaction. Most of the students were horrified to learn that they would be dancing in front of the Minister of Magic. This was a nightmare!

Draco Malfoy only grinned broadly. The old Draco coolly drawled: "Why the fuss? It's something everyone should learn. I took lessons when I was fourteen."

"_Of course_ you did," sniped a Hufflepuff boy.

Harry shook his head. "Not every family has a ballroom down the hall!" he mumbled.

Malfoy smirked. "I would venture to say _you _would rather waltz on a broom, remembering the perfect loop you did last Saturday."

Harry smirked back. "Surprised?"

Malfoy laughed, and shook his head. "No. Incredible move, Potter, would have made a monkey jealous, but anything's fair when catching the Golden Snitch." Several students around them chuckled, and the two Seekers slapped a high five. Then Malfoy turned toward Hermione, who stood between Harry, Ginny and a glowering Ron. "You know we have the opening dance, don't you, Granger?"

She glanced at him and tossed back her hair. "No problem."

His eyes narrowed and he moved closer. "_You_ ... know how to dance?"

She gave him a very smug look, with a slow sweep of her eyelashes. "Just wait, _partner_!"

McGonagall cleared her throat, loud enough to stop the banter. "- and _therefore_ our first encounter with the terpsichorean instructor will begin at Saturday afternoon."

The Golden Trio, Ginny and Malfoy groaned. Saturday evening they had to be at Slughorn's annual Advent dinner, which meant that they wouldn't have a free minute after lunch.

Minerva ignored the quiet protests. "Just make sure you're wearing comfortable shoes, and ladies, wear skirts. You'll find it's easier to move in a skirt."

"Ha! Another advantage for the girls!" one of the Slytherins protested mockingly.

The headmistress was prepared. "If that's the way you feel, Mr. Smalwourth, we look forward to seeing you in a kilt," there were loud snickers, "but please be careful in your choice of the tartan. If you choose the wrong colours, the family might take offense, and no twirling!" Laughter erupted around the room.

Draco glanced down at Hermione. "Do you own anything fitting for dance lessons, Kitten?" he asked, ignoring the others' gasps at his use of a pet name for Hermione.

"Just ... you ... wait!" she replied with another sweet smile. Then she sighed. _Dancing lessons! As if they didn't have enough work!_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After lunch Saturday, Hermione quickly changed into the dress she would be wearing that evening to Slughorn's little private party: a knee length gown in a warm lilac, wide sleeved, with a fitted bodice, broadening to the skirt, overlaid with lace. The fabric shimmered, and embroideries above the waistline imitated the lace on the skirt. Matching pumps and a warm stole in white silver completed the outfit. In the shared bathroom, Hermione carefully applied her make-up and brushed her hair until it gleamed, then pinned it up, allowing some loose curls around her heart shaped face. Beholding the image in the mirror, she realized that she was no longer the small grey girl from earlier days. The beauty that looked back at her blushed, and she bit her lip as she imagined Draco's expression.

_Had she truly worn this dress for him?_ _Was it really so important if he liked it or not? Was she excited because she knew 'the Ferret' would look at her with wide, adoring eyes? _The answer to all these questions was simply 'yes'. She wanted his attention. She wanted him to think her beautiful. And she was nervous.

A none-too-patient pounding at the door leading to Malfoy's chamber interrupted her thoughts. "Granger, are you soon done? There's a bloke here who needs a shave before we leave."

Smirking Hermione glanced over her shoulder. "Why not trying a little charm, oh mighty one?"

"Granger…" The voice was no longer cold and menacing, but teasing and amused.

"Okay, I'm finished!" she called as she went to her own door, undoing the sealing spells. Quickly she slipped back into her room and closed the door behind her. She didn't want him to meet her here, but somewhere ... near firelight. Hermione rolled her eyes, listening to what she had just thought. She had never sought out a beau's attention before, but even Hermione needed some admiration. And right now, she craved it.

Snatching up her small handbag and shawl, she went down to the common room, waiting. It wasn't long before she heard the quick steps descending the short stairs, and smiling she turned around – only to gape at him. Draco Malfoy wore a dark blue suit that made him look even taller, expertly tailored around his shoulders, torso, and hips. Beneath his jacket, he wore a dark blue waistcoat and a silver oxford shirt with a matching bow tie, finished with gleaming patent leather shoes. His hair was simply combed back, a few short strands carefully placed over his forehead.

He was no longer a boy. This was a full grown man.

This realization that had germinated in her subconscious for a long time now, and finally came to fruition. It almost overwhelmed her, and she grew lightheaded with a sudden desire.

Then she met his eyes (which were huge) and saw his expression (which was astonished) and suddenly felt … _special_. His gaze took her in from head to toe, and as it returned to her face, and she saw a very satisfied and adoring smile spreading over his face, she blushed. Why did she feel almost naked under his approving stare – as if he could undress her with only his eyes (what was he doing_ in his mind_)?

Draco cleared his throat. "Y - you … you're beautiful!" he stuttered, before he could stop himself. When he saw her shining eyes and the beaming smile, he swallowed.

Hermione's heart was threatening to burst out of her chest, it was beating so hard against her ribs. "You … you, too," she whispered, growing a shade pinker.

For a long moment they simply stared, each drinking in the sight of the other.

Then, thinking that the room was growing far too warm, Draco closed the distance to the breathtaking, beautiful girl that happened to be his partner, and offered her is arm. "Shall we?" he murmured, and suppressed a shiver as she slipped a graceful hand into the crook of his arm, smiling up to him. He swallowed again as his trousers grew tight. _'__Great God, she is driving me mad already, and we haven't even danced together yet.'_

Walking side by side, looking for all the world like a royal couple, they went down the hallway to the large staircase, hearing the other older students on their way to the dancing lessons. Smiling shyly up to her companion, Hermione took a deep breath. She felt strangely self-conscious, but also incredibly alive. The Prince of Slytherin walked with such grace beside her, she wondered if it was training or natural, and hoped that she wouldn't look too clumsy when they danced, then caught herself. Since when did it bother her how she looked to others or if she could impress Draco Malfoy? _'Since he made it obvious how much he wants you and since you fell for him,'_ her inner voice informed her kindly, and she sighed soundlessly. She really was…

She couldn't finish her thought, because all of sudden she was caught in a soft invisible barrier, unable to move a step. "What…?" she started, confused, and looked at Malfoy, who seemed to be as surprised as she was. Then a tiny bell voice above them informed them of the reason: 'Standing beneath me brings you a kiss's glee'.

Amazed, Hermione looked up and, sure as rainbows follow storms, one of the enchanted mistletoes was directly above them, glistening and giggling. "No!" she groaned! "No, not us, too!" She heard the soft laughter beside her and looked irritatedly into Draco's smirking face. "You did this on purpose!"

His grin broadened. "I wish I had, Kitten, but I didn't know it was there." He gently turned her around. "But, honestly, I'm very grateful to it. Maybe I'll replant it after Christmas so that it can grow, just to say thank you."

"_What_?"

His grin turned mischievous as he glanced up at the small plant, then back to her, wiggling his brows. "Come on, little lioness, you know what we have to do." The double meaning was as obvious as the sun at midday, and feeling heat rising into her cheeks, Hermione stuttered something no one would understand.

Laughing quietly Draco took her by the shoulders, pulled her towards him, put a hand behind her neck and slowly lowered his head; his gaze smouldering. Hermione's breath caught, her eyes fluttered closed, her mind was reeling with what was about to come. And then she sighed in contentment as his lips brushed over hers in the softest butterfly-wing caress, and the entrancing combination of his aftershave and personal scent enveloped her, and his mouth found hers. And this time it wasn't a quick, heated battle for dominance. Their lips spoke soundless words to one another, then she granted him access, and his talented tongue found his way into hers, and he moaned when he found it sweet. The whole world around them vanished and reality skipped. Helplessly, she clung to him and melted into him, sighing in contentment. They sank into each other until nothing else existed anymore – only the two of them, their arms around each other and their duelling mouths, each devouring the other, sweetly oblivious to anything around them.

From a thousand miles away, they heard another girl's voice. "They must be on their way, Harry, be patient!" The voice came nearer along with two sets of footsteps approaching the corner.

"We've been waiting there for the last ten min - _HER__MIONE_!" Harry stopped so quickly that Ginny almost ran into him. Stepping from behind him, her mouth formed a perfect 'o'.

Harry's exclamation pierced the lustful haze surrounding the Head-Students, and brought reality crashing down on them. Their lips parted, and for a moment they simply looked at each other, out of breath and trembling with passion, then Hermione turned her head to see the shocked expression on Harry's face, and the surprise and then grin on Ginny's face.

Harry was so surprised that he almost felt nauseous, seeing a best friend locked in a passionate embrace with their former enemy, both breathless and glassy-eyed. He wisely clamped his mouth shut before he stuttered one of the hostile questions racing through him, or all of them.

Hermione cleared her throat, finally recognizing her long time friend and her best mate; her face deep red, her gaze sheepish. "Uh… well… ah… mistletoe!" she offered the lame explanation in a small voice; pointing a trembling finger above her.

Looking up, Harry saw the small green plant with the white berries, and frowned, while Ginny started to giggle beside him. There, above the Head-Students, hung a mistletoe, peeping repeatedly, 'You're free to go! You're free to go! You're free to go!…' It had grown hoarse from saying it so often. The golden dust the mistletoes sent down on the couples had coated Hermione and Draco, bathing them all over in a Christmas shimmer as well as the floor around them. The leaves of the mistletoe were withered; the plant was exhausted!

Ginny smiled happily and sighed. "Well, _that_ was a long time coming!" She met the expanding eyes of her boyfriend and tilted her head toward the Head-Students. "About time! ..." she started, then, remembering who she was with, "... that you two showed up. We've been waiting for you!" She jerked her thumb toward the hallway, grateful that her brother was late. What a scene _that_ would have made.

Draco cleared his throat and stepped back, dusting his suit off as best he could while Hermione shook off her hair and dress. Ginny turned to Harry. "Come on, Harry, let's get to practice," and walked to the other two. Hermione avoided her eyes, mumbling, "Nice dress, Ginny," while brushing more of the dust from her dress.

Ginny smoothed her hands over the skirt of her golden brown dress and giggled when she met Malfoy's embarrassed glance. Quickly Ginny pulled out her wand and pointed it at him, whispering a charm. His eyes widened for a moment, then he relaxed when nothing untoward happened except a slight tingling around his mouth. The red-headed Gryffindor whispered: "Lip gloss, Malfoy, a sure giveaway." Then she waved it again and the most of the golden dust vanished. Harry remembered the first day on the Hogwarts train, when Hermione sat with him and Ron and unexpectedly pointed her wand at _him_, only to skillfully repair his glasses.

Hermione sighed in relief. "Thanks, Ginny," she murmured, finally meeting her friend's sparkling eyes. Oh, she knew that look – that knowing, amused, sympathetic glance – and she knew that Ginevra would bombard her with questions later. Not daring a look at Harry, she quickly walked towards the staircase, followed by her friend – and an instant later by Draco, who did not want to be alone with Harry ... whose expression slowly changed from shock to a very, very stern frown.

They reached the Entrance Hall where most of the other sixth-and seventh-years had already gathered. McGonagall smiled at them in approval. Hermione and Ginny looked elegant in their party gowns, and Draco and Harry stood out in their suits among the other students. And she could have sworn that the Head-Students both looked a bit abashed. They also seemed to glow from the inside. A sparkle of dust told her that the two had fallen prey to one of the enchanted mistletoes, and by the look of them, they had taken advantage of it.

Hiding her smile, she nodded kindly at the four Egyptians, dressed in their native elegance. The two girls were wearing veils that went from their heads to the tops of the gold and silver poulaines, curling up toward their ankles. The boys wore heavily embroidered sashes around their waists, and all four wore the kohl, reminding everyone of the images on the sarcophagi of the ancient royals.

McGonagall saw Ron Weasley rushing down the stair to join them, and she clapped her hands for silence. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for coming."

'_As if we had a choice!'_ most of them thought.

"Welcome to your first dance lesson. Every Saturday at this hour, and every Wednesday evening from eight to nine, you will meet here for your lesson. You will learn two dances. I am sure this is a skill which will serve you well for the rest of your lives on the right occasions."

Standing behind Hermione, Draco took a long draw of her perfume before he leaned over and whispered, "Which dance is it that you think you know?"

Her head slowly turned to look up at him – the nerve! – then she pursed her lips. "Which one do you need to practice, Malfoy? Viennese or Slow Waltz, Tango, Foxtrot, Slow fox or Quickstep, Jitterbug, or more the Latin American dances like Mambo, Rumba, Paso Doble, Cha Cha, Salsa or Samba?"

For a moment he looked surprised, then he smirked: "I prefer the samba dance the Muggles came up with, the Lambada. But seeing that would send Wonder-boy and Weasel-bee over the edge, I think a waltz will do it for the start."

Hermione shot him a heated glare. "Arrogant!" she whispered.

"Tempting minx!" he whispered back.

"… then you all will choose a partner for the first lesson!" McGonagall had raised her voice for silence. Hermione lowered her head and Draco smirked, but kept quiet. "Any questions?" she asked.

"Ready?" he murmured.

"Always!" she replied, then added, "Try not to step on my toes too often."

His interest was piqued, and others nearby snickered – until McGonagall's voice rang out once again. "Care to share with us, Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy?" Dead silence. The headmistress' eyes peered over her glasses between the two of them, stopping at the Head-boy, who bit his lips in amusement. "Mr. Malfoy?"

"No, Professor, Hermione seems to feel she's up to the challenge." He caught Hermione's fiery gaze that told him, _'Y__ou are so dead!'_

McGonagall pursed her lips – and all of sudden the sense of humour she'd kept bottled up in the dark years awoke. "Indeed? Then I think our Head Students should demonstrate what we're here for." She turned around. "Professor Flitwick, is the gramophone ready?"

Flitwick, in the doorway of the Great Hall, nodding excitedly. "Of course, Professor. And the floor has been cleared."

McGonagall smiled, just a touch wickedly. "Then, to our first practice." She gestured toward the Great Hall. "Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, if you would be so kind, please show us how it's done?"

She knew how much she loved her students, and that the Trio was very fond of her. But just this moment, Hermione Granger shot her a dirty look, and the headmistress nearly chuckled. She was reminded of an episode when she had been her age, and a young man had taken her to the dance floor. _Gracious, such a long time ago_.

Draco offered his arm to Hermione, who took it after a deep breath. "Please, don't embarrass us!" he whispered and caught her fierce gaze. "If you have any doubts, just tell me, trust my lead, and I can get us through this," he offered.

As they walked into the Great Hall, the ceiling displaying a bright star-strewn sky with hundreds of floating candles beneath, her face was set, eyes flashing and nostrils flaring. "Oh, I'll _show_ you how to dance!"

He moved them into position in the middle of the hall, surrounded by the other students. "Now _that's _an offer I can't refuse," he whispered, his eyes layering the words with meaning.

"This is a _dance_ lesson, Malfoy!" she hissed back.

Soft laughter rumbled in his chest, sending heat down her limbs. "I know one dance you've never done, and I'll gladly teach it to you!"

She immediately blushed, and she slipped one hand onto his shoulder and her other hand in his; feeling new shivers running down her spine as his arm went around her waist, holding her close to him, his hand deliciously warm on her back in the cool air of the Great Hall. "Rake!" she breathed and he grinned at her.

"Can't help it. You look just too delicious!"

Flitwick put the needle of the gramophone onto the disc, and the first notes of _By The Beautiful Blue Danube _by Johann Strauss floated through the hall. As one, both students took their first steps, and within a second or two, they matched each other's movements and waltzed over the marble floor – light, weightless, as if the music came from them. Every step fit, every pirouette, every movement matched the others, even as Draco changed direction, Hermione felt it in his hands, his legs, and allowed herself be led. Ever since her first lesson five years ago, during the summer break, she never liked not being able to lead, but now, flying in the arms of the man beside her over the dancing floor, she revelled in the feeling

The Headmistress exchanged a quick look with Flitwick, who stared at the couple as the waltz ended with a flourish, and Draco whirled Hermione into a bow and a curtsey. The tiny man happily beamed and changed the recording to another song – a tango. McGonagall looked at him, startled.

Draco recognized the pause in the music and prepared for another dance. And a quick look at the girl in his arms told him that she was ready. Of course! Hermione Granger was nothing but perfect once she had learned something. When he heard the first opening chords and rhythm, he felt a smirk tugging at his mouth. _'__Tango – the certainly most erotic dance of all classics_._'_ Thanking the tiny professor inwardly, he telegraphed his movements to his partner with a multitude of invisible signals, and she followed. His movements were smooth and fluid, not choppy as others would perform it. He preferred the sinuous and gentle movements of this dance, and he gratefully realized that his partner was matching his technique, moving as one.

The other students watched the couple with mouths open, barely breathing. The uncontested elegance, the sensuous tension between Head-Girl and Head-Boy were mirrored in every twist, in every pushing away and pulling close, in every step. Harry stared wide-eyed at the girl, so dear to him, and his former school enemy. Yes, both knew how to dance and seemed eager to prove it to each other, but you would have to be blind and stupid, with a stone instead of a heart, to not see that this performance was, in truth, a dance of temptation and enticement. The boys shifted uncomfortably, glad that the girls had eyes only for the couple on the floor. And the way the two looked at each other, eyes never leaving the other, made it clear that this was an encounter that would lead to things best left in private.

Harry tore his gaze from the two and turned his attention to his girlfriend, who looked oddly satisfied at the Head-Students. And he again had to ask himself what Ginny knew that he obviously _didn't_, and what was really going on between Hermione and Malfoy?

Ron could only stare at them. _Of course that arrogant prick knew how to dance!_ Being born to wealth had its advantages! But, he never would have guessed that someone who was, in his eyes, so cold, so evil, could move with such grace and sensitivity to music. It was obvious the Slytherin loved to dance. But, wasn't there a saying that _the devil has no music in his heart_? Then he saw Hermione's face, and he felt a dart of pain, anger. No, not because she was moving with Malfoy as one, or because the two completed each other with such ease. No. It was her expression: the glow, the shimmer in her eyes and the soft smile, the smile so many professional couples plastered on their faces during a competition. But this was joy, delight. It was obvious that she loved what she was doing.

Much too soon for Draco's taste, the recording ended. There was complete silence for a moment, then the students began to applaud enthusiastically. Feeling as if waking from a dream, Malfoy blinked, then his gaze found the sparkling eyes of the little lioness. He lifted her hand to his lips, brushed his lips gently over her knuckles, moved back one step, and bowed. "Thank you for the dance, my lady" he said; his eyes again finding hers.

Flushed, panting, and feeling as if she were standing on pink clouds, Hermione smiled back at him. Then she curtseyed elegantly and replied: "A pleasure, sir."

McGonagall smiled broadly and raised her voice over the applause. "And this, ladies and gentlemen, is how it's done." She waited a moment until the students calmed down. "Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, my congratulations. That was beautiful." She lifted a brow. "I would appreciate if you could show your follow students some of the steps you just performed and help them learn them."

Draco politely lowered his head, as did Hermione. Both knew that they would have no chance to dance together again any time soon, perhaps not until the Christmas ball, but just now it didn't matter. Both felt light-headed, and strangely energized. While the others chose their partners and prepared to dance, Malfoy looked down at the Gryffindor-Queen and as he met her eyes, he knew that he would not be able to wait one day longer. _Tonight it would happen. Tonight he would make her his…_

TBC…

_Ha, isn't this an entrée for a special thing you're all waiting for? I do think you all are looking forward for the next chapter, aren't you?_

_I hope you liked this new update and would be very, very happy to receive some more reviews._

_Love you all,_

_Have a nice week,_

_Yours Lywhn _


	39. Fruition

_Hallo, my dear Readers,_

_now comes the chapter you all have been waiting for. A friendly advise in advance: Fetch some cold drinks before you're starting to read and maybe there will be a need for an icy shower afterwards (laugh)._

_So, everyone who isn't 18 has to stop reading NOW (just a fair warning – smile)._

_I hope you will enjoy the next part of the story._

_Have fun,_

_Thanks for the last reviews,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 38 – Fruition**

Slughorn's Christmas party was rolling along nicely.

Much like the one two years before which Harry and Hermione both attended, the professor had provided a delicious dinner, provided music along with the after-dinner sweets and wine. The atmosphere was cosy, comfortable, despite the fact that the room was holding both Gryffindor and Slytherin students in the same semi-confined space.

The room had changed dramatically. The shelves on the walls holding the hundreds of bottles of potions and assorted oddments were screened by a material that seemed to be made of silk and ice, decorated with fir and gold dust. The hundreds of candles added a soft light to the large office, and the well-tended fire crackled in the open fireplace, inviting visitors to seek its comforts in the several chairs placed around the hearth.

The four Egyptian guests asked many questions about the different traditions of Christmas, and Harry took the chance to talk with Abdel, asking him about his home country and the feasts of the Coptic Christians during the Yule season, along with other traditions. Draco watched him thoughtfully. Potter was cleverly masking his suspicions in casual curiosity, probing for information wherever it seemed likely to lead. The Head-Boy admitted to himself that this 'war hero' might have made an excellent Slytherin – if not for that exaggerated sense of courage, and acting before he thought.

His attention was mostly taken up with a certain witch who looked too beautiful and alluring to ignore. Their dance earlier that afternoon was still singing through his veins, making him want her more every moment he had to keep his distance. Aside from a few brief words in front of the narrowed eyes of Potter and a smiling Weaslette, they hadn't spoken. He'd had no chance to approach her without revealing how he felt. And whenever their eyes met, a delicate pink crept in her smooth cheeks and his own heart rate doubled. _When would be this torturous evening be over? __When could he get out of this party – together with her?_ Suppressed desire felt strong enough to almost suffocate him.

He heard Slughorn talking with Neriman. Sipping from his goblet, he let his eyes wander over the other students. Luna was listening to Edis, her head cocked to one side as she took in every word, while the oriental wizard watched her with an intensity that spoke volumes. Edis seemed to become aware of Draco's gaze, because he suddenly looked up. For several seconds, Malfoy thought the light brown eyes changed to a fevered gold, flashing with an inhuman fire. Draco suppressed a shiver, knowing that these weren't the eyes of his school mate but eyes belonging to a creature as old time itself – a potent being that should not be walking on this earth at all.

Only years of practice kept Draco's face neutral. His father had taught him well to hide his feelings and to wear a mask in front of strangers, and so his expression was straight and relaxed, as if he hadn't seen anything at all. But somehow he knew that Edis was looking straight through him. And as the nostrils of the other wizard flared, Draco was absolutely certain that the other was _smelling _him. He had _smelled_ Draco's emotions – like a dog, like a wolf, like a ... _jackal_! Unconsciously, he swallowed. He couldn't fool the powerful being that lived in this boy – or that lived in all of them. And he was glad when Luna said something to Edis and he redirected his attention away from Draco and back to her.

"Eerie," whispered a female voice behind him and, startled, he whirled around, spilling his entire glass of wine in the process. A surprised yelp confirmed where it went, and blushing fiercely, he saw Hermione staring wide-eyed down at her beautiful lilac dress now generously splashed with stain. All conversation around them stopped, and the jokes started.

"Really, Malfoy, is that any way to treat a lady?"

"Telling her to cool off?"

"A new kind of flirting? Don't think she takes to it much."

Both Head-Students had red faces, and Slughorn laughed heartily. "Oh my, Hermione, my dear! And here I thought you two were getting along so well. Really, Draco, I do hope this wasn't intentional."

"S-s-sorry, Granger," the Head-Boy stuttered. "I was … well, you … startled me!"

"So it's her fault?" Ginny chuckled, winking at him. "That's no way to offer a girl a drink." The others laughed, too, except Ron, who stared darkly at the other pureblood wizard. Harry moved to her side.

"Need a hand, Hermione?"

The Gryffindor-Queen swept her hand over her skirt and grimaced, as the wet silk was becoming uncomfortable. "Yeah, more or less," she grumbled and shot a glare at Draco, who had the good sense to look sheepish and deeply embarrassed. "I do hope you didn't this on purpose!"

Impossibly, he grew redder. "N-n-no, Hermione! I promise! You startled me, that's all."

"Scared of her, Drake?" Daphne Greengrass mocked from behind him, and several other students snickered.

"You had better wash this out as soon as possible," Neriman said, approaching Hermione. "It's better for the silk if the tartaric acid is removed quickly."

Hermione sighed. "I know." She handed Draco her own empty goblet with the words: "Just hold this, please. And perhaps you can refill it at least."

Draco nodded hastily, avoiding the amused and gleeful glances around him. How… humiliating! He, a Malfoy, dumped an entire glass of wine on a young lady! His father would be appalled. Well, probably even more so by the fact that his son got all _flustered_ because he splashed a _Muggle_-born.

Horace laid one large hand on Hermione's small shoulder. "You can use my facility, Miss Granger. Glad to help."

Smiling up at the professor, she nodded gratefully and followed him, leaving Draco standing with two empty glasses. Ginny looked thoughtfully at him and moved to his side. "You know," she whispered, "this might be your chance." She met his baffled glance.

"What?"

She raised her eyebrows. "She has to change," Ginny murmured thoughtfully, "and you two could get away from here together without arousing suspicion, if you accompanied her back to the Head-dormitory because it's late."

He almost choked, realizing what the red-haired witch was suggesting. "Do you mean what I think you mean?" he stuttered hoarsely, glad that her brother and Potter were talking with another several students so they couldn't hear what the Weaslette had said.

Another smile touched her lips. "You would probably be doing us all a favour. Those sparks you two are spreading are about to burn down the whole castle." Turning toward Harry, she threw him one last look over her shoulder. "Your choice, Head-Boy!" she murmured.

Draco blinked. By Slytherins knotted wand, was Ron Weasley's sister proposing a plan for him to seduce her friend? Had he dropped into some sort of alternate universe ...?

And his eyes caught the returning Hermione, her expression irritated. Quickly set down the glass and pushed through the crowd, realizing that everyone's attention had been taken up with other things. The Head-Girl glared at him as he reached her. He saw that her dress was still a mess, and guilt mixed with excitement. The Weaslette had been right: Granger had to change her clothing – and now was his chance.

"How did it go?" he asked, hiding his hope beneath a shamed expression.

"The worst came out, but as soon as I try to dry it with a drying charm it crinkles like plissé. I'll have to change."

Lowering is head, deliberately looking rueful, he said: "I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't want to ruin your dress. It was an accident, and I-" He stopped as she placed one hand on his arm and smiled gently up to him. Instantly it got warmer in the room.

"I know it was an accident. I shouldn't have sneaked up on you like that, but I thought you knew that I was standing behind you." She sighed. "I'll go to the dorm and-"

"I'll go with you," he said instantly, celebrating inside. This was the moment he had waited for all evening, even without the red's suggestion.

"Where to exactly?" a familiar voice asked sternly.

Sighing, Draco turned his head to look into the green eyes behind the black-rimmed spectacles. "To our dormitory, if I have your permission," he answered sarcastically.

Harry glanced at the girl. "Could you get it clean?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, not really."

"Then you should go change, Mione, before you catch cold," Ginny piped up, linking her arm with Harry's. "Hon, we should have that chat with Abdel, don't you think?"

Harry hesitated a moment, and Hermione rolled her eyes. "Go, Harry! I'll be okay. Draco will go with me."

'_Which is what's askew in this situation,'_ Harry thought, remembering the two dancing in a manner that would make a sailor blush. He cleared his throat as Ginny pulled at his arm. "Well … then … good night, Hermione, Malfoy!" He nodded curtly at the other young man, who lifted a brow.

"G'night, Potter, Weaslette!" He saw Ron approaching, and pointedly offered his arm to his Head-partner. "Coming?"

"Where do you think you're going together?" Ron had reached them and his eyes were shooting daggers at the Slytherin, who put on a bored expression.

"I'm doing the gentlemanly thing. I will accompany Hermione to the dorm so that she can change," he answered as if speaking to a five-year-old.

Ron's stormy expression grew darker. "If anyone goes to the dorm with Hermione, it will be me, not some -"

"Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, don't tell me you're leaving already?" Slughorn had appeared out of nowhere, looking disappointed.

Malfoy turned from Ron to the rotund Potions Master. "My apologies, Professor, but Hermione's dress must be tended to, thanks to my clumsiness, and she wants to change."

Horace shook his head as he looked at the condition of the beautiful gown. "Oh my, that is such a shame, such a pretty frock. I can understand your wish to change out of it, Miss Granger. I presume you two will not return afterwards?"

'_Afterwards! Ah, Professor, we will be too exhausted to do anything but lie in each other's arms, catching our breath!' _Draco's mind replied dryly. Out loud he said, "Likely not, Sir. It's already late and I have Quidditch practice with my team tomorrow."

A kindly understanding came to the man's eyes, and he smiled: "Of course, my boy, duty first. I do hope you both enjoyed my little _soirée_?"

"It was very nice, Professor, thank you for inviting us," Hermione answered, offering him her hand he took with a flourish and bowed low over it, which made her smile again.

"It was a honour to welcome you as my guest again, Miss Granger. The same goes for you, Mr. Malfoy. I am so proud to have such outstanding Head-Students in my quarters." Then he waved his hands. "Good night, you two. Perhaps you can come to another?"

"Yeah, but without the wine shower," Harry commented dryly, and Ginny giggled.

"I would prefer that as well," Hermione added. "Good night, Harry, Ginny, you, too, Ron!" She allowed Draco to lead the way, picked up her shawl near the door, and left Slughorn's office. The door closed with a squeak that echoed in the hallway.

"Finally!" Draco breathed and caught the sudden glance from the girl.

"What do you mean by that?"

He smirked down at her. "I thought they might not let us go, and you'd have to stay in your poor sodden dress." He saw her glance down on the pretty thing, now looking rather worse, and chuckled, before he added sincerely, "I'm truly sorry, Hermione."

She gave his arm a light slap. "How often are you going to say that? I fairly certain you didn't do it on purpose." They walked side by side down the hallway to the staircase, their footsteps echoing around them in the dungeons. Hermione felt the now familiar tension growing in her, making her slightly breathless. Walking beside him like this, her hand in the crook of his arm, awoke the yearning in her she'd been fighting off for weeks now. Clearing her throat, her mind darted to another topic. "Did you see how Edis' eyes changed?"

They reached the steps, and Draco nodded, illuminating his wand to add light to the twilight of the torches. "Yeah, they looked like those of a demon." He snorted. "And he was sniffing."

Hermione made a face. "Yeah, I saw it. He reminded me how frightening it was to see him coming into the Ravenclaw common room in the shape of Anubis. I'll tell you, when you face a living legend – an ancient god of death – it freezes you to the spot. It's nothing short of a miracle that he didn't find me."

"A miracle I'm grateful for," Malfoy mumbled and caught her smile while they crossed the Entrance Hall and approached for the staircase that led to the upper floors of the castle's main portion. "I too experienced one of those 'gods' hostility, and I certainly don't want _you_ to feel the same. One close encounter was more than enough."

Hermione halted in the middle of the staircase, looking at him. A smile played around her lips, her large eyes twinkled. "You can be really sweet when you put your mind to it," she whispered and covered her giggle as he promptly blushed.

"Don't call me that. I still have a reputation, you know."

At this she did laugh – the light sound of it soared, making his heart pound in a moment. "No worries, Draco, your secret is safe with me."

"Yeah, beneath the eyes and _ears_ of dozens of portraits," he grumbled, pouting – a sight that made her want to kiss him – badly. She suddenly shivered and pulled her stole closer around her. Draco noticed and he shrugged off his jacket.

"What…?" Hermione began and her eyes widened as he wrapped the broad shoulders around her petite ones. It was deliciously warm and smelled of him. His grey eyes looked deep into her brown ones. "Before you really catch cold," he said softly, stroking one of the curls behind her ear. Hermione swallowed and felt new heat rising into her cheeks at this gentle gesture.

"Thank you," she whispered, feeling her breath hitch as his burning gaze wandered to her lips. Unconsciously she bit one and shivered when his fingertips traced over her mouth like the touch of a butterfly.

"Don't!" he breathed. "They are to be fondled, not bitten."

Hermione gulped and closed her eyes as he bent down slowly, inch by inch, his intention clear. She was surprised when he slipped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her up the stairs with him. "Wh- wh- what…?" she stuttered and met his smirk.

"Disappointed, little one?" he asked, his voice innocent.

A thousand retorts darted through her mind, but none to her lips, because her mouth had gone dry. His arm around her, the heat of his lean body next to hers, the suppressed desire, the growing tension of the last hours – all nearly made her feel faint. And the sight of him in his suit traversing a sleeping castle with her in semi-darkness awoke forbidden imaginations in her.

Draco felt her glance, and as he looked at her, his breath was caught in his throat by look in her eyes. His own longing flared, flew hot and wild through his veins and echoed in his body and soul. A second later, his trousers were tight and uncomfortable, while a heated knot boiled in his belly. The spot her hand touched his arm seemed to be on fire, and it swept through his body, drummed beneath his temples.

As they reached their floor, he had to will his legs to walk and his knees to be strong, for they were close to wobbling. And he knew the shiver he felt in the girl beside her was not from the cool air.

Suddenly they both were stopped mid-step, while a tiny voice called: 'Standing beneath me… OH NO! Not YOU again!'

Draco looked quickly up and saw in the dim light of his wand the still-depleted mistletoe. "Yes! Thanks!" he grinned before he pulled Hermione to him, who was half laughing, half gasping.

"Malfoy, this is crazy! You're crazy!" she stated hoarsely, and Malfoy nodded.

"'Draco!'" he corrected her. "And yes, you're right. I'm completely and utterly crazy _for you_!" Before she could reply something, his lips caught hers and his hands snaked beneath the jacket along her back and waist, pressing her firmly against him. Hermione gasped as she felt the hard proof of his desire and her body answered it in its own natural way, by an awakening an ache in her lap that almost hurt. Taking full advantage of the moment, her mouth opened, he deepened his kiss, conquering the sweet invitation with the fiery storm of his namesake.

Hermione felt helpless, completely subsumed to the young man who was almost devouring her, and without thought she clung to him, trying to steady herself as her knees almost gave in. And as he took his mouth from hers, they both gasped, and he went for her throat, nibbling, kissing and biting it. A loud moan escaped her.

"Get a room, you two!" the portrait of a younger wizard near them groused loudly, clearly exasperated.

The Gryffindor-Queen didn't even hear it, she was too lost in the sensation. One of her hands was buried in Draco's hair, the other clawed his shirt and waistcoat, delighting in feeling the tight muscles moving beneath the material. She squealed when Draco suddenly lifted her. Instinctively she wrapped her legs around his middle, eliciting a groan from him.

"Damn it, Granger, how I am supposed to walk _now_?" he whispered, kissing her cheeks and closed eyes; his breath hot on her face.

"You're the strong one here," she breathed hoarsely, a voice she didn't recognize. She licked her lips and looked at him. The burning need in the stormy eyes in front of her sent lava through her body. She buried her face at his throat as he started to walk, holding her in his arms, while above them the tiny voice called: 'About time!'

Not even hearing the outraged little plant nor the dry comments of the portraits, he headed towards their dormitory, made even more challenging by Hermione's pressure and movements as he walked. He couldn't remember when or even if he'd ever felt such desire for any girl before. The knight at their entrance stared with wide eyes at them, mouth agape. Before he had a chance to demand the password, Draco flung it at him, and sputtering in outrage, the painting swung open. The light and warmth of a large friendly fire in the fireplace greeted them. Carefully Malfoy let her slip down to her feet, still holding her close. Their eyes met, and both understood the question.

"Hermione?" he whispered, praying that she wouldn't turn him down.

Gulping she wet her lips, a natural reaction as her mouth was growing dry as she saw him looking at her with those smouldering eyes – and that tiny gesture sent him over the edge.

A passionate creature by nature, throwing himself fully into everything he'd chosen to do – even though he always disguised the passion carefully – and longing for a closeness that had nothing to do with proximity, his already damaged control slipped. Battling one final time against himself, trying to hear the sensible part of his mind screaming that he was about to go somewhere with no way to return, he released himself to the temptation this particular girl had become to him. As if invisible strings drew him forward, he bent down again. Her breathing was irregular and danced over his face, her sweet perfume washed over him, her long lashes hooded eyes that mirrored – deep down – the same desire that was driving him mad.

For an eternal moment his face hovered over hers, as they tried to summon some last strand of sanity, then his lips caught hers anew and electricity shot through them.

Trembling, she wrapped her arms around him, while his jacket slipped off her shoulders. She moaned into his mouth, as he cupped one of the firm cheeks of her bottom under the silk. She was sure the heat of his hand had to leave some mark on her, together with his experienced lips which moved back to her neck, while his hot breath was burning her like that of the dragon he was named for. She would soon be nothing but a heap of ashes if he went forward with his scorching passion. _Dragonfire ..._

A heap of ashes from which another Hermione would arise.

Like the phoenix.

A phoenix in whose name she had fought for three years.

This thought somehow pierced her lust-clouded mind.

She suddenly knew that she would turn into a boneless thing and sink helplessly to the floor in the next moments and give herself to him if she didn't stop – NOW!

And she couldn't let that happen! It would change too much! Her future happiness was hanging over an abyss of pink lava.

"Draco," she rasped breathlessly. "Draco, we have to stop."

She didn't understand his mumbled reply, but his answer was clear. His hand left her hip and cupped her head, his lips returned to her mouth, muffling her protest. For a another long forbidden moment she allowed it, caught up once again in the whirlpool of emotions racing through her. Then she placed her hands on his shoulders and firmly pushed. Reluctantly he lifted his head, his eyes were dark with unsatisfied longing, his breathing now short gasps. Swallowing hard, he placed his forehead against hers, both panting mingled with each other.

"Don't ask me to stop now," he whispered, his arms tightened around her, his expression betrayed his inner agony.

"I … I have to," she replied quietly, as his eyes closed, only to open a moment later with an agony that nearly left her helpless.

"Please…" It was only a murmur. "I need you. We both need this." His lips caressed her temple, then her cheek and finally the corner of her mouth. She pressed her lips together, finally resisting. "So many hours of happiness were taken from us, so often we both had to be the strong ones, despite what each of us wanted. So often we faced death with no promise of another day – or any kind of true happiness." He nipped tenderly at her lower lip. "Let us steal this one night. One night that belongs to just you and me. One night to forget for a few hours what we've been through, what we've had to endure over the last months and years." One of his hands curled into her hair. "One night, Hermione, where there are no differences. No Pureblood, no Muggle-born, no Slytherin, no Gryffindor. Only you and me – us."

Tears welled in her eyes as she heard the need behind those words – words holding a form of truth and too closely mirroring her own wishes. She was no one's one-night-stand, but her desires told her that, perhaps this wasn't what he had in mind. _He certainly cared too much for her by now, didn't he?_ _Or was it a night of delight traded for years of neglect?_

And as his mouth again claimed hers in a fierce kiss that sent her left brain into the abyss once again, he robbed her of the last thought of resistance. She had neither the heart nor the desire to fight this – _him_ – any longer! Defeated by her own emotions, she gave in, sent the goody-two-shoes, the responsible Miss Gryffindor, away and allowed her instinct to take over. It felt too good to be held like this, to be kissed as if she were the most important person in his universe, to be fondled so that her whole body sang. Sneaking her arms around him, she leaned in to him and returned his kisses with all the bottled up passion that had been building for months – possibly longer.

Draco was in heaven. There was no other description for it. It was heaven to feel like this: so alive and … and _happy_. She melted against him, his body was on fire wherever she touched him; she, his little witch. He had tried to keep his distance, but it had been impossible. He had tried to suppress his hunger for her, but without success. All hormones in play, his whole being was craving her, burning for her. The only thing that could satisfy this insane fever were two cherry-red lips and two smooth hands, now clawing his shirt and waist coat as if she were afraid he might disapparate.

He heard her moaning as he released her curls, reaching for the zipper of her dress. Dragging it downward, his hand slipped beneath the soft material, gasping in pleasure as he felt the skin of her back. She was trembling now and he caught her in his arms as her knees seemed to give way. His first impulse was to strip off her gown and take her right there on the floor, but something in him wouldn't allow it. This was her first time, he knew, and another unfamiliar part of him wanted to make it special for her.

Draco Malfoy had never placed anyone before his own pleasure – except perhaps his parents. He took what he wanted, and he knew how to get it from a girl, and had accumulated some skill in satisfying her in return. But this was different. Never before had a girl influenced him like this. No girl had ever made him forget his own name. Never before had he wanted to _give_ pleasure before taking his own. And now he was only seconds away from losing himself completely in the fire, and he desperately wanted to make her feel as he did.

Hermione shuddered as his fingertips stroked over her bare back ever so gently. Aching to do the same to him, she managed to pull his shirt from his trousers, but the waistcoat wouldn't allow her. Groaning in frustration she fumbled for his buttons. Smiling, he realized what she wanted to do, and allowed her access. She almost ripped the buttons open and pulled his tie off, kissing him again. Her impatience – the very proof how much she wanted him – made him dizzy with lust. Jerking off the tie and the shirt, he finally stood naked to the waist before her, and cupping her cheeks with both hands he looked deeply in her hooded eyes before he slowly and carefully slid the open dress from her shoulders; savouring every second of it. He licked his lips as he watched the silk gliding down her perfect body with a hiss, like a waterfall, until the shimmering material rested finally around her ankles, enveloping her feet and revealing the brown-eyed Venus who was about ... to ... become ... his.

His hungry gaze wandered over her figure. She wore a silk strapless bra and matching panties the same colour as the dress. Pale lavender stockings enclosed her long legs, ending in lace two hand widths below her hips. Every curve, every soft inch was covered with pearlescent skin that begged him to caress it, and for a moment the only thought that touched his foggy mind was: _'I am truly in Heaven. She is an angel, and she is about to give herself to me…'_

Then his eyes found her face, and he saw the embarrassment as she tried to cover herself with her arms. A tenderness so intense awoke in him it that almost took his breath away. Again. Gently he caught her wrists and pulled her hands to his chest; the feeling of her fingers on his skin was almost too much to bear. "Don't!" he whispered huskily. "Don't hide yourself, love. You're the most beautiful girl I ever saw."

The red in her cheeks increased, and shyly she lowered her glance. "I … I am not beautiful, Draco, nor-"

She gasped as he pulled her flush against him, they both moaned at the sudden contact. "_Never_ deny how beautifully you are, Hermione. You are the most exquisite female in this whole world. Even an angel pales in comparison to you!"

Wide-eyed, she looked up at him, unbelieving, amazed. But the first sane thought she had for several moments was astonishment at the fact that _Draco Malfoy_ was saying such sweet things to her. And then she saw the words mirrored in his eyes. _Why, he must be ..._

That thought was shredded into thousand flaming pieces as he kissed her again and began to explore her body. Wherever he touched her, wherever his talented hands brushed over her skin, his palms roughened from all the Quidditch practices and gymnast's games, she burned. And with rising boldness she did the same to him, allowing her fingers to wander over his strong back and shoulders, down his sides and along his waistband, wondering again at how smooth his skin was. And as he slipped one hand beneath her bra and touched one of her most sensitive spots for the first time, she whimpered in pleasure.

Suddenly he swept her up in his arms and headed straight to his room. He knew he had to carry her now to his bed, or he wouldn't get there before he took her for himself, because his knees were growing weaker. Relieved that he hadn't locked his door before he left with Hermione this afternoon, he simply kicked the door open, ignored Sir Mael's sputtering protest, and stepped into his private room, barely noticing the fireplace prepared for the evening.

Half stumbling, he made it to his bed and laid his little witch on it, pressing himself onto her. Hermione moaned as his sweet weight pressed her down into the feathers. This was what she wanted – what she _needed_! she told herself. Trembling, she allowed him to unclasp her bra and to hurl it away. Even as her inner voice protested against it, the woman in her sighed in contentment as the hungry gaze of her lover beheld her breasts, the raging desire in his eyes making her proud to be the reason for it.

"Perfect," Draco murmured, before he cupped one of the soft mounds in his hand and laid a trail of hot kisses from her throat down towards his next goal. For just a moment, he felt her tense, and then her sigh filled his ears like music as he captured one of the small red peaks between his lips, so soft, silken, so smooth, this little lioness. Never before had he enjoyed giving someone else such pleasure, and as he heard her gasping as darts of pleasure coursed from her breast to her groin, showing him how much she enjoyed his ministrations, he knew that he had never felt happier in his whole life.

Hermione was lost somewhere between earth and Heaven. All she could feel was him above her, his mouth suckling her breast, his hands caressing any part of her upper body, the material of his trousers against her thighs, now more sensitive than ever before. And still there was this hunger in the middle of her body, this desperate ache in her core that didn't lessen, but increased moment by moment. And as his fingers glided softly but determinedly beneath her panties, she held her breath. The decent part of her went on alert, the female part of her couldn't wait until the moment he would touch her… _there_. But just before she thought she would feel him there, where no one ever had been before, he withdrew his hand and she almost cried out in protest.

He lifted his head and looked down at her, full of lust and mischief. "Patience, Kitten!" he whispered. He sat up and carefully rolled off the stockings, stripping her of the coloured silk, slipping them off with her shoes, slowly, deliberately, his other hand warm and large around her ankles.

Breathlessly, Hermione watched him peel them from her one at a time, and she felt this first exposure just as fully as the other parts of her body. She delighted in the sight of his strong upper body, covered with pale skin, while the shimmer of the flames danced in his platinum hair. She saw the muscles shifting as he moved, and she reached for him, tracing patterns on his back with her fingers.

She heard him take a sharp breath, and a very female smile appeared on her face. So, two could play this game! Sitting up, too, she wrapped her arms around him from behind and placed kiss after kiss along his spine, tasting the salt of his skin and himself. She heard him gasping, and experimentally, her tongue darted out and touched him between the shoulder blades. This time he did moan aloud, but continued his work.

As Draco finally managed to remove the shoes and the stockings, he was certain he was close to losing his mind. His whole body was in flames, his member pulsed with the demand for satisfaction and his hands shook, while tiny drops of sweat appeared on his forehead. God, she was driving him _insane_ and he only pictured when they finally became one.

Turning around, he moved above her onto all fours, forcing her to lie back again. Like a predator finally catching his favourite prey, he looked down on her. He let his right hand wander from her throat, circling her left nipple, down towards her belly and then beneath the waistband of her panties, his intention obvious.

Hermione had never before felt so wanton, as she raised her hips from the bed, urging him to take away the last scrap of clothing. And as she watched his face constricting in some kind of battle for control while he beheld her entirely naked form, she began to understand the old story that even the strongest man was unable to resist the siren's song – and she was his siren. This much she knew. And it excited her more on than she ever thought possible.

The moment he bent down and one of his long fingers danced over her most hidden parts, she almost cried out at the raging emotions, which sang through her. But it wasn't enough – never enough! Even as is gentle fondling grew more daring, and her belly started to become one tight, trembling knot, the longing grew stronger and stronger. And the moment she felt his breath on her heated folds and his tongue sneaked out to explore and then to taste her, a cry escaped her without her realizing it.

Draco growled in pleasure and triumph. She was so wet for him, so ready, and as he bent down to seek out and then nip at the small nub of flesh that would bring her so much pleasure, he almost lost all control from the scent of her sweet musk. Ambrosia – that was what he tasted and as he heard her throaty scream, he shivered. Her legs were suddenly wrapped around his shoulders, holding him there, her fingers in his scalp, holding on to him for dear life. He gave in her demand, eating her alive. He could feel her trembling, listened to her pleas to not stop, and the masculine in him grinned in victory, while his heart went out to the girl beneath him. Against her resistance he lifted his head and met her teary eyes; her breasts heaved.

"Please, don't stop now!" she begged, her flushed face and the soft first convulsions of her body were telling him how close she was to her first experience of ecstasy.

"Trust me, Kitten," he whispered hoarsely, licking his lips, relishing her taste on his mouth.

Hermione stared through a fog at him, her whole being screaming with the urge to become undone at last. And then she threw her head back into the pillow as she felt one of his fingers gently pushing into her. God, nothing – no book, no story, absolutely nothing – had prepared her for what rushed through her in this moment. It was like being tickled and stabbed at the same time. It was a rollercoaster of sensation. She went wild beneath his talented mouth and his clever movements, until she felt ready to disintegrate. Pawing the comforter beneath her, she called his name over and over again. Fireworks danced before her closed eyes and then a mighty wave hit her and swept her away.

Later, finally catching her breath, heart slowing, she slowly floated back to earth, her whole body seemed to have no bones, while she felt her nerves singing and her skin gently prickling. Opening her eyes she looked up at the boy – no, the young man! – who had given her such pleasure and it was a moment before she realized that he stood beside the bed; naked! With eyes still slightly out-of-focus, she stared at him and his lower half. His long lean legs contained by narrow hips, and, what she'd only felt through the layer of clothes until now, pointed straight towards her, large, hard and an insistent red.

"I ... I couldn't ... that cannot fit!" she stammered. As she looked up at his face, she expected to see mocking amusement, but the utter tenderness in his eyes caught her by surprise.

"It will fit, Hermione," he whispered back, sliding over her, bracing himself on his elbow above her, while his fingers buried themselves in her wild curls.

For a moment she was terrified, he could read this in the chocolate eyes which looked up at him like a trapped deer. Then he kissed her gently, smiling at the memory of how she had writhed in pure bliss beneath him only a minute ago. It had almost sent him to completion himself, hearing her moans and screams, seeing the blush that spread from his fingers to the rest of her body, as those walls trapped his fingers in its fragrant pulsing. And now his body was demanding its due. He couldn't stand being apart for her even a moment longer, his guts were in agony. "Don't be afraid, love", he rasped. "I will be as gentle as possible, but I have to feel you – all of you. Now. Or I will lose my mind." Again he kissed her and happily he felt her arms slipping around him.

He slid between her legs, his whole being tensed with anticipation, as Hermione tore her mouth from his and whispered: "I … I never … I am …"

He nodded. "I know, Kitten, I know." He trailed kisses along her nose, before he added: "Just trust me. Relax and hold onto me. There will pain the first time, but I promise it will be good afterwards. Just-" the words seem to catch in his throat "… Just let me in, Hermione! Please, please ... let me in!"

Never had he guessed he would beg a girl to let him have her, least of all 'the bookworm', but it had turned out that she was the singular exception to everything he knew. He was sure he would die, if he couldn't make love to her right now. Capturing her mouth with his again, he positioned himself and took a deep breath, sneaking his arms under her hips to hold her just there.

Hermione tasted and smelled the intoxicating mixture of herself and him mingled in the kiss, as if in promise of delights to come. It was a fragrance the girl never forgot. Hermione held her breath, drawing her knees up beside his waist as she felt him pushing slowly into her, but tried to remain relaxed as he had told her. And then a cry was torn from her throat, as she felt a sharp pain as her body was violated by this very strange, enormous presence, but her cry was swallowed by his mouth. For just a moment she tried to break free, to push him away, but his arms were like steel and he was too heavy. Tears blurred her sight and rolled down her cheeks, and she stifled a sob.

"I'm sorry, my girl, there is no other way!"

The words were spoken quietly and lovingly in her ear, and as she blinked several times she saw his face just above hers, sweat ran down his temples, his eyes were almost black as his pupils had expanded with passion, while his body was tensed and trembling at the same time. It was then it came to her that he was holding himself back to make it easier for her, and she felt wave of gratitude that he gave her time to get used to his size – to overcome the pain that … that was disappearing moment by moment, and made room for a new sensation that spread from her womb through her body like wildfire.

In anguish, Draco watched the girl beneath him. His whole being was screaming to move, to drive his body forward and find the satisfaction it was demanding. The moment he entered her, he had the feeling he had come home, as if he were finally where he belonged. And to force his hips to remain motionless, to delay the desperate urge to take her like he wanted, was nearly unbearable. Still he managed, somehow, to give her time to adjust to him – something he had never done before. She wasn't his first virgin, but unlike the others, taken and used for the moment, Hermione was all that mattered to him.

And then he felt her relaxing, felt her heart quickening under his, saw the beginning of wonder in her eyes and then she lifted her hips a little bit, making the first move, driven by the instincts born into all of the human race.

He gasped. Unable to remain still any longer, he slowly started the oldest dance in the world, and the moment she arched against him, whispering his name, the dragon in him awoke. He had yearned for her for weeks, she had haunted him every waking minute and many while asleep, and now – as he was finally deep inside her, her silken walls holding him as tightly as her arms were holding his body – he took her as if there were no tomorrow. Her nails clawed his shoulders, while her face showed her eagerness, her long lashes spread on her moistened cheeks, her long legs were around him. She met and matched his every movement, every stroke was answered in her own way, her gasps, moans and pleas were all he could hear.

Hermione had lost all sense of reality. After the first pain ebbed away, a longing so intense had taken her in hand, and there was no more thinking. And then he had moved – and she had succumbed to the raging passion that filled her as he did. What he was doing with her – in her! – was too strong and too intense to allow thoughts. Her senses were filled with him just like her body was, and as his movement grew faster, all she could do was cling to him. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't think, she couldn't do anything except to match his strokes and pant for air. The fire deep in her belly grew again, and devoured her completely, the pleasure was too much to handle, and as she suddenly felt his mouth at her throat, sucking at the special spot beneath her ear, the world started to skip. She didn't realize that she was screaming his name – his first name – or that she was sobbing now. She thought she was about to die of pleasure, and then the flames in her core exploded in thousands of stars, while she felt her soul leaving her body, floating on mighty red and golden wings high above to the skies, before the stars washed her away into a warm crystal sea …

The moment she climaxed, he knew that he had never seen anything more beautiful. The bliss on her face, the way she shouted his name and her legs clamped around him almost painfully – he was lost. He had wanted to make it last, but his body had its own agenda, pulling him with her into the realm of ecstasy. Her name escaped him in a throaty bellow, matching triumphal roar of the dragon in him, as he came, feeling her milking him, again, again, again ... and his pleasure drained all strength from him.

It was too much, too ... much ... as the tidal wave of passion enfolded him and tore him away from reality. He didn't know how long he spent himself in her, his wild teenaged hormones demanding their tribute, before he collapsed on top of the girl that had captured him. It was several moments before he could hold his eyes open, taking in the image of his sweet Kitten – satisfied, sweaty and panting – beneath him, then the aftermath took its toll. Slipping out of her, pulling her to him, somehow noticing that she was out cold, he enclosed her and drifted away into a deep sleep; the dragon in his soul purring with satisfaction…

TBC…

_So, my dear Readers, finally it happened: They have become one. And the night isn't over yet, sweet things are still to come._

_I do hope you loved the chapter and that it came out like you imagined it._

_Please, please leave some reviews._

_Have a nice weekend,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	40. Sweet Afterglow

_Hello, my dear Readers,_

_I'm very sorry that you had to wait a week longer than usual, but we were running out of time (business, garden-work, etc.). But finally the next chapter is done and uploaded. And it will be sweeeeeeet, this much I can promise._ _T_

_hank you so much for the reviews and a hearty 'welcome' to the new readers. I'm so happy that there are still more readers, who are getting curious of my story and give it a try. I hope you will love the new update. I had a hell of fun of writing it._

_So – off to Hogwarts._

_Enjoy,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 39 – Sweet Afterglow**

Harry was still considering the evening's events when Ginny bid him and Ron good night and ascended the stairs to the girls' dormitory at the Gryffindor tower. She was tired, contented with herself and the world, and smiled as she remembered the good time she had with her friends at Slughorn's party. The professor had loosened up as the evening drew on, and related some of the stories from earlier years, making them all laugh, and surprising them with stories of their elders and a couple of professors.

Neriman, who was with her, saw the smile and whispered, "You seem happy?"

Ginny nodded. "Yeah, I am. It was a nice evening. His parties used to be a chore, but this one was comfortable and, well, entertaining."

Neriman cocked her head. "But that is not the only reason for your smile."

Both of them stopped on the steps. Ginny turned to her and lifted a brow. "What do you mean?"

The foreign student pursed her lips, obviously amused. "Oh, be serious, Ginny, it was you who encouraged Draco to escape from the party with Hermione." She chuckled, "I was close enough to hear you, even though you spoke very quietly. I have excellent audio capabilities. He probably had it planned already. He is quite clever."

Ginny crossed her arms, murmuring a silencing spell around them in case Harry or Ron was still in the common room. "Meaning?" she asked.

Neriman threw up her hands. "Oh Ginny, there were enough pheromones emanating from that pair to arouse the entire school, let alone Hermione and the Head-Boy. I swear, if they don't share a bed tonight, their hormones will start leaking through their skin."

Ginny giggled, pink beginning to hide her freckles. "Well, our Slytherin-Prince has his moments …"

"I find him quite attractive, even though he is not my type," Neriman laughed quietly.

"And all these up bottled emotions the two have stored for years now, in a deep dislike for each other…"

"It could be denied want, after they left childhood behind," the Egyptian girl nodded.

"- they had to explode one day. After Hermione told me that the two duelled several weeks ago, ending with him stunning her and kissing her senseless, I knew the direction this fire would burn. And after he protected her so often and stood up for her in front of the whole school, I saw that he does feel more for her than simple desire. I swear I never thought I would see that spoiled brat transform into a shining knight, ready to fight for right, let alone for a Gryffindor and, worse than that, a Muggle-born." Shaking her head, Ginny climbed to their floor; Neriman following. "And they kissed several times since that first episode. It was only a question of time until she couldn't resist him anymore. And I'm pretty certain after the incident with the mistletoe this afternoon, the dancing…"

"That was more a seduction than a dance," the other witch grinned; her supernatural senses had smelled the waves radiating off the two Head-Students.

"My thoughts exactly!" Ginny agreed. "This evening, they couldn't seem to keep their eyes off each other. I think something will happen tonight." She momentarily forgot that Neriman was carrying a big secret that was no secret for the D.A. anymore, that deep inside this witch rested an ancient being, and she giggled: "And if the two skip breakfast tomorrow, or show up walking a bit funny, we'll know why."

Neriman laughed, a warm, vibrant sound that contained a strange but familiar purr. "Love! Why do the humans always try so hard to hide it when it is seen so obviously?" Giggling together, they opened the door to the bedroom, and it was only that moment that Ginny remembered that she was not only speaking to a fellow student, but to an Egyptian goddess, too.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco sighed deeply as he came around. He felt completely used up, boneless and heavy, but good. His fatigue was mixed with a deep satisfaction which he'd never felt before. Before, there had been regret, ennui, even repulsion. Eyes closed, he spent a moment soaking in the pleasure of his body and soul. Finally forcing his eyes open, he looked up into the dark vault of his curtain over the four poster bed above him. He gradually became aware of the body was draped over his, the hair tickling his chest and shoulder and a warm breath on his bare skin.

Raising his head, he looked down at the mane of curls spread over part of his upper body, and a smile spread over his face. _There she was: his little lioness, his brave Gryffindor, his sweet Kitten…_

The memory of what happened between them surged back to him, and a broad, very satisfied grin spread over his features. Merlin's beard, such fire! He had expected – no, _known_! – that the pretty bookworm with the fiery temper would be a wildcat in bed, but even in his most vivid dreams he had never pictured it like this. The moment he made her his – truly his – he was encased in pure bliss, as though he had finally found the place belonged, soul and body. The way she had enclosed him with limb and body, her sweet surrender and the wonder in her eyes had made it clear that she had truly welcomed him.

She had given herself to him completely, had given him the greatest gift a woman could give a man, and with a pang of guilt, he knew that he didn't deserve it, she would never have it back, that he was responsible for it, and for what became of her.

This girl was too pure, too good, too _smart_ to give herself to someone like him, someone who had walked in darkness so long, but his heart and soul had ached for her, and still did. Even if being with her wasn't right – in the eyes of her friends, nor in the eyes of his friends and family – he would never give her up. Hermione Granger was his other half, the North to his South, the arm he'd been missing, and he knew that he would only feel whole when with her.

Lifting a hand, he caught the comforter dangling from the bed to the floor and pulled it over them. He ever-so-gently stroked a sweaty curl from Hermione's warm face, feeling again the smoothness of her skin. Sweet starry heavens, she was so wonderful, so full of goodness it made him ashamed of himself, but she was also his strength. She was the light that would lead him out of the last remaining shadows, healing to his wounded soul, his salvation from all the demons which still haunted him…

_Whoa, Draco, hold those horses! You're sounding like a fool of love, like a… a poof… But, dammit, nothing has ever felt so right lying here with her, having her in my arms and suffering from… well, from the best I've ever known!_

He sighed. It was true. He couldn't remember that he had ever nearly fainted, or when he had come so hard before. After all those weeks of tormented longing, his desire had finally been slaked – for now. But his back, legs were growing achy, and he was too tired to even move. This had never happened before, and grinning, he thought about more to come as he absently stroked her back and dozed in the sweet aftermath.

Hermione slowly awoke. Feeling exhausted but treasured, and at peace, she simply wiggled closer to the warm body beside her, smiling as her nose caught a familiar scent, mixed with something new and familiar: a masculine smell, primal and musky. She heard a heart beating gently by her ear, moving with breath. Still only half awake, she looked up. A husky voice whispered, "Welcome back, Kitten."

Yawning, she rubbed her eyes with one hand and looked into the pleasing, weary features above her. "Hi," was the only thing she mumbled, before she stretched her legs. And this time she detected a definite soreness, starting at her calves and ending between her legs, and also in her back and arms.

"What happened?" she mumbled.

"You blacked out, Hermione," he chuckled, pulling her closer. He heard her sigh and took a deep breath. Of course, he wouldn't tell her that the same thing happened to him. A Malfoy would not _swoon_ after … well, he just didn't, that's all.

Hermione simply accepted this explanation and let her mind drift in the calm dark nothingness that enveloped her, eyes drifting shut, then licked her very dry lips. "What spell did you use?"

This time he laughed. "The sweetest one of all. It hit me, too."

Her answer was a slow nod, "Mm hmm." She breathed deeply and cuddled even closer to him, nestling her cheek on his chest above his heart.

His _bare_ chest –

Bare. Like the rest of him.

His warm skin was smooth against hers and she identified the new scent as dried sweat, fitting, and ... comfortable. Sighing again she let his fragrance fill her up, while his fingers slowly stroked her back down to her hip that was also… bare.

_Bare?_

_Wait a minute!_

She was _naked_?

_Like_ _HE was_?

She carefully lifted her head and looked up at him, realizing that they were both, indeed, naked as newborns. On a bed. His bed. And she began to recognize that several parts of her body actually hurt, almost as if she were stiff, while the place between her legs was actually sore.

And this could mean one thing.

"Did we…? Have we….?" she stuttered, her eyes growing wide.

Grinning with satisfaction, he smirked at her, eyes dancing. "You don't remember?" he asked chuckling. "Unbelievable."

Red filled her face as memory came rushing back – the kiss beneath the mistletoe, the dance, the evening at Slughorn's party, Draco spilling his wine over her, getting again caught by the same mistletoe on their way back to their dorm, and then… well, nothing. Nothing except sweet sensations, hands, scents, his _fingers_, devouring kisses, and then, at last, her lying beneath him, him above her, around her, in her, being driven into nameless bliss…

With a groan she let her head fall back and closed her eyes, and he pulled her even closer to him; his arms encircling her softly. "Remember?" he teased, and as she nodded, he laughed gently and kissed the top of her head – a sweet gesture he had never done to anyone else.

Never done to anyone else ... His mind drifted.

There'd been Pansy, but she'd been using him much the same as he'd been using her. That girl – what was her name? – from Ravenclaw, several Slytherins.

But the first.

He remembered the first. (You always remember your first.)

He was on break, his third year. As the oldest aristocrat in Slytherin's house, he had gradually become known as the 'Slytherin-Prince.' His father had a gathering of friends over to the manor. Only, at that time, all of Lucius' "friends" were Death Eaters. Draco was determined to, well, fit in. Soon, though, he was just trying to hide his fear in his own home. He had discovered, much to his chagrin that ... did not like ... his father's ... friends.

He had shot up that year, and his muscles were catching up, so he still appeared gangly. He'd given up the sleek look for his hair, and let it fall over his high forehead. The sneers and slams from any of the visitors he came near kept him around the edge of the group that was meeting in his home. Even the wolfhounds stayed at the far kennel, just inside their property. Eventually, he believed that his father noticed, because one evening, s_he_ came up to him, laughing and friendly. She asked him about school, his hobbies.

She wanted ... to see his room.

He wasn't at all sure how it happened, but the next thing he knew, they were in his bed and her tongue was down his throat. And what he didn't know how to do, his body seemed to make up as they went along. It was a most confusing and terrifying ride, but eventually it was over.

She must have been more than twice as old as he. But finally getting a look at her, he realized she was hot. And beautiful. Sort of. There was a coarseness about her beauty, and a perpetual sneer close to her expression. He remembered being introduced to her as a member of the Rosier clan.

But she lay there with him, and answered his questions, introduced him to the geography of a woman's body. And then he tried again, and it went better.

Why did she do it? Was she attracted to him? Sometimes women were attracted to young boys, but he didn't believe that was why. It was much later when the thought occurred to him that his father might have paid for her, but he didn't see Lucius for several days after that, and he didn't remember if there was anything different about the way his father looked at him after that.

Something had taken root in his soul. There was disdain for himself and any future partners. He'd lost his self-respect. He always had trouble believing in himself after that.

He'd learned the glamour which was the art of changing his appearance, of enhancing the perception of the other; there were charms to aid his performance, to eliminate the possibility of conception. He became quite good at technique. The girls he coupled with had been easy to fool. And some he dated but never did anything with. Out of some need of their own, they bragged about their wonderful experience they'd had in his bed. His reputation was secure. But none of it satisfied.

That part of his life was over. Never before he had felt so at peace with himself and the world as he did now – as if nothing could ever hurt him again. Never before he had been so happy, so completely satisfied after sex. He was still young and his experience had been limited, but he knew that what happened between Hermione and him had been special. The fact that he wanted her with him, sharing his bed, cuddling, that alone spoke volumes. Well, maybe they really had been hit with a spell – the most powerful and…

Spell…

_Oh_ _no_! He'd forgotten to cast the contraception charm, and he most certainly had _not _withdrawn at the moment of ecstasy. Calling himself a fool, he untangled himself from his lover. And when he saw the mess they'd made on themselves and the spread - the traces of her loss clearly displayed on her long legs - warmth spread through him. He had an idea.

"I have a treat," he whispered, kissing her softly. And, to his surprise, she returned the kiss, a shy smile on her lips afterwards. He had expected that she might be ashamed of herself, behaving as she had, and with a _Slytherin_, but seeing her smile at him, accepting what had happened between them with calmness filled him with joy.

Swinging his legs over the bed edge, he had to collect himself for a moment, ignoring the pleasant pain of the scratches she'd blessed him with. God, he was tired. More tired than after a long, hard Quidditch match. He was certain that Hermione felt the same. Taking a deep breath he rose, trying not to groan as certain parts of his body instantly protested. He stumbled over their clothes and shoes, and he manoeuvred none-too-gracefully down to the common room to retrieve his wand.

Hermione watched him go, taking in his tall, lean, alabaster body, smiling at his efforts in the semi-darkness. Her mind was still foggy and her body tired, but she rejoiced in the knowledge of this man.

Then she sobered. Sweet heaven, what had she done? She had given herself to _Draco bloody Malfoy! _– her tormentor, her enemy! She had given in to the temptation of him – but she was not ashamed. It had been the best experience of her life thus far, and she doubted that any other man could have brought her through the experience as gently as he had! Who could have suspected that Malfoy, of all people could be so… so caring, so loving? That nickname – the sex god of Slytherin – certainly made promises, but she'd never expected it to be like this. Her body was singing, her skin seemed to have a life of its own, and even if her labia were a bit sore, she felt well.

Enclosed in the comforter, she heard him moving around and murmuring – obviously to Crookshanks. She sighed, closing her eyes, taking in his scent that enfolded her. Smiling, she let their coming together play in her mind. He had almost driven her mad with desire, with his deliciously erotic attacks, playing her body like a violinist his violin, making her sing; pleasing her. And a pleasure it had been, even after he broke her and she thought for a moment that he had torn her apart. It had really hurt, but not for long, and she was deeply grateful that he had been so patient with her, allowing her time to get used to the invasion of her body. He had filled her, not only there, but also her senses. She had lost herself. She had melted into him, as if they had become one being, and even now she thought she could feel him deep in her – and it was bliss.

She heard the sound of water, but she could pay it no mind. Instead she let the sound flow over her. Then, the comforter was raised and a large hand turned her. "What…?" she began, then felt the warm event at her belly.

The Slytherin smiled apologetically. "Just to prevent any ramifications," he answered lightly, laying his wand on the nightstand.

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh…!"

"The charm I used is effective if done within several hours." Going on one knee, he slipped his arms under her and lifted her with more difficulty than usual. The passionate love-making had produced 'consequences'.

A bit more alert, Hermione put her arms around him and looked up to him. "Where to?" she asked, swallowing a yawn, leaning her head at his shoulder.

"You'll see," he answered and carried her into their bathroom. The walls were aglow with dozens of candles. The pleasant scent of meadow herbs perfumed the air. She looked around and saw that the bathtub was almost completely filled with bubble bath. Towels were arranged near the steps descending into the pool, and beside them stood two glasses.

But Draco headed to the showers where he set her on her feet. She swayed, and he wrapped one arm around her to steady her, adjusting the water to a comfortable temperature. Hermione sighed as the water washed over her, cleaning up the uncomfortable mess between her legs. She leaned back into Draco, who sponged away the rest of the traces of her first time.

She felt her energy returning with the stimulation from the water and the sponge. Draco asked if she could stand alone so that he could wash himself, and she turned around in his arms, took the sponge from him and was about to return the favour. He took her wrists in his hands, and answered her unspoken question: "You don't have to do this. I know that this all new for you."

The girl looked into his eyes, her heart suddenly filled to bursting with tenderness. He was so thoughtful, so caring… he, the school bully, now exposed as a gentle, attentive and sensitive young man under his arrogant mask. She knew that this was the real Draco, the boy and man he might have been all along, if not for the influence of Tom Riddle on his father. This young wizard in front of her was a completely different person than the one who took the Dark Mark, not the icy git he showed the whole world. Well, change had been mirrored in his actions and words over the last weeks. Just the fact that he'd joined the D.A. and had fought at Harry's side spoke volumes. Then there was his humour, the teasing when they were alone. This Slytherin in front of her was someone she could respect, possibly even _love_, and she was grateful that she was the one he'd revealed himself to.

Bending forwards she placed a soft kiss on his wet bare shoulder and whispered: "I know, Draco, but I want to do this." His eyes widened, then a smile came and curiously he watched her as she started to stroke the sponge over his chest. Her movements were carefully at first, almost shy, then they got more determined but still gentle, and the Slytherin-Prince relaxed, while he let his eyes drift shut. He enjoyed the sensation of the sponge that caressed his whole upper body, before it went south, where it hesitated. Not able to tame his curiosity he opened his eyes and looked at his petite witch, whose face was (once again) comparable to a sun-kissed tomato, while she whispered something under her breath.

Hermione had at first allowed the sponge wander over him, knowing that it would feel good to him, but as she reached his waist, her shyness returned, about touching him… _there_. Or to even looking at… well… _it_. Feeling heat creeping into her cheeks she slowly stroked his belly, stalling, then dared one quick peek. Her hands stopped and her eyes grew wide. He was relaxed, but… _how had THAT fit into her?_

His sudden outburst of laughter startled her and as she hastily looked up, he pulled her into his arms, shaking with laughter. "Yes, Kitten, it fit very nicely!" She realized then that she had voiced her confused thoughts. She blushed so fiercely that she could feel the blood drum in her temples, while she pressed her eyes shut. _'__He must think me a complete idiot. How humiliating!'_

She felt him stroking her back, slipping both hands around her bottom, while he – still laughing – told her, "You know, that was a great compliment, Hermione."

Not catching what he meant, she glanced up and saw the amusement on his face and the pride in his eyes. Only now she replayed what she had said, and hid her face in his chest again, wrapping her arms around him. Yes, that was a compliment designed to bolster the ego of any man.

She felt him shift and cut off the water. He bent and suddenly lifted her again into his arms. She squeaked, letting the sponge fall. "Bath time," he murmured and walked to the enormous bathtub and stepped down into it, the warm scented water enveloping him. Waist deep in the water, he set on her feet.

Hermione hissed as the bubble bath touched her tender flesh, sore from the unfamiliar activities of the last hour. But the warm water felt heavenly. As Draco sat down on one of the marble benches by the wall in the pool, beside the steps and pulled her on his lap, she sighed, feeling the warmth soaking into her muscles. The water reached to her shoulders, and almost purring, she allowed her head to fall back onto his left shoulder, licking her lips as he put one arm around her. The next moment, the rim of a glass was softly pressed against her lips and she tasted cool, fresh water. Eagerly she cupped his hand and emptied the glass in several gulps.

"Thirsty?" he asked quietly, and as she nodded, her empty glass was replaced with a new full one – his.

"Not you?" she asked, looking sideward at him.

He shook his head, his wet hair now yellow. "I'll get some when we get out."

She quickly finished the second glass. Draco put it back on the edge of the pool, twined both arms around her and leaned his head against hers. They sat like this for some time, neither talking nor moving, utterly at peace, enveloped in comforting fragrant water that caressed them in a mild current. Only as the water began to cool did Draco realize that Hermione had almost gone to sleep. He pressed a soft kiss to her temple that woke her again.

"Mmm?"

"It's getting cold. Give me a minute, I'll be right back." He slipped out from beneath her and she sat down on the bench again. "Stay just where you are," he quietly ordered, and turning around, she watched him leaving the tub, bubbles still clinging to parts of his body, the rest of him glistening. Then he wrapped a towel around his hips, grinning as he caught her watching him. "Like what you see?" he teased, both of them remembering when he'd said it to her before. Then, his words had been sheer mockery, attempting to make her uncomfortable succeeding. But now it was the gentle joke between two lovers.

Hermione felt the beginning of a blush, then answered simply, "Yes." She loved look at his sleek body with the strong legs. And she definitely liked his mixture of smirk and smile he seemed to have just invented for her. So, why not admit it?

'_Congratulations, Hermione! That famous ego has just enlarged another three sizes,'_ her mind informed her as she observed the huge, proud grin. Draco winked at her before he walked into his own chamber. Rubbing her face with both hands, Hermione sighed, realizing only now the foreign nature of this situation. Here she was, sitting in a heavenly bathtub, surrounded by dozens of candles, after making passionate love to a young man who happened to be a) her former school nemesis, b) the leading member of the rival house and c) her Head-partner. And it felt so completely right. Washing her in the shower, preparing a pool full of soothing bubble bath, towels, getting her cold water to drink, and was now possibly preparing something else. All this told her that she hadn't made a mistake giving herself to him. This sensitive side of him that was so new, was something she could easily fall for – one more thing that bound her to this mysterious pure-blood wizard.

The sound of bare feet on marble floor woke her out of her thoughts. Holding a large towel for her, he asked, "You coming?" She was on her feet and out of the tub in a moment. The towel was instantly wrapped around her, while he rubbed her back, drying her.

"Thank you," she whispered, seeing his cheeks reddening.

"You're welcome," he mumbled, feeling out of place. He wasn't used to caring for someone's comfort or needs. There had been the pretty Ravenclaw he'd had in his bed two and a half years ago, who had been a virgin, too. And he had assisted Pansy after they had shared their first night together, but not like this. He had used his wand to clean up the mess they made in the abandoned classroom he had transformed for them, and had then walked her to the girl's dorms in the Slytherin-dormitory, but it have never occurred to him to _bathe_ the girl he was with, let alone drying her off. But now, with Hermione, he had the strange need to do this for her – to make her comfortable again.

A new possessiveness filled him when he noticed the marks on her throat and her shoulders, or how reddened and full her lips still were, knowing it had been he who did it. It was a new experience, being responsible for another one's _pleasure_ and not their misery, and he loved it, finding out that there was still some good in him.

Hermione watched him closely, saw the many emotions and thoughts in his eyes and was once again amazed how vulnerable this pure-blood was. Impulsively, she stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips over his in a simple gesture of affection – a movement that caught him by surprise, but just for a moment. He locked her in his arms and returned her peck, changing it into a deep kiss that stole both of their breaths away. Gasping, they finally broke apart, surprised by the heat building again so quickly.

"You know," he murmured only an inch apart from her cherry red lips. "I had a thought or two about another go at it after some sleep, but if you insist, we could put off the sleep."

Hermione blushed – for the umpteenth time – and cleared her throat. "I… I only wanted… to give you a kiss and…"

"Kitten, as the 'brightest witch of our age,' you should know by now that it's dangerous to play with fire." He wriggled his brows at her, as he felt himself hardening at the mere sight of her. "Or to tickle a sleeping dragon," he added with a grin, glancing below.

Hermione felt the movement at her belly and was momentarily lost for words – a rarity. Then she blurted, "But … you can't be again! Not after …" She clapped her mouth shut, the blush extending from forehead to shoulders.

Draco couldn't help himself: he laughed, shaking his head. "My, my, Granger, you really are the innocent," he chortled, robbing another kiss from her, pulling the towel from her and dropping it at her feet. With a smirk, he picked her up, heading for his room.

"Draco … we can't … you can't … we have to …" she stuttered, but shut up the moment he laid her down on the comforter he'd cleaned.

"Yes, I agree with you, little lioness: 'We have to'!" His voice was hoarse again, and before she could protest, he lay on her, capturing her mouth with his. For a moment, she tried to resist, tried to wriggle free, then her arms slid around him and her hands wandered over his back and caressed the red marks she had left their earlier, while a low moan escaped her.

Grinning while kissing her, the young wizard closed his eyes in happiness, and followed the need to please, and to take pleasure once again …

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Neriman exchanged a knowing glance with Ginny, who sat across from her at the Gryffindor house table. Harry was scanning yesterday's edition of the _Daily Prophet_ and Ron was refilling his plate for the third time this morning. The corner of Ginny's mouth twitched. She was still wary around Neriman, always aware of the other presence inside her, but on the other hand, it felt so right to talk with and to _trust_ Neriman. Perhaps because she was so kind, so warm-hearted. Ginny knew that Bastet had been a good goddess, representing joy, music and love. Perhaps it was because every single cat in Hogwarts seemed to have fallen in love with her (and animals were far more perceptive than most humans). If Neriman truly did host the power of the real Bastet, then it was obvious that cats would love her, as Bastet was their goddess.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the two Head-Students. Hermione appeared first, and a minute later, Draco. They both looked weary, but there were other subtle differences. The normally vain, dapper Slytherin was missing the perfectly-groomed appearance he usually wore, and Hermione's hair was pulled into a ponytail, girl's code for 'bad hair day' or, possibly, 'in a hurry.'

And they moved differently. Ginny swallowed a giggle.

Neriman glanced at her, mouthing: "Finally!"

Ginny winked at her, grateful that her boyfriend was poring over the newspaper and that her brother was too busy with his breakfast.

Hermione reached her friends and smiled: "Good morning, all!" Her voice was also different, her eyes looked heavy. She hadn't slept well. And Ginevra and Neriman knew why. The reason was approaching the Slytherin table, and carefully straddling the bench. There were no marks on her that might give away Malfoy's victory, but Hermione was very good at illusion charms.

Harry looked up. "G'morning, Hermione. You're late. Is everything…" he paused, taking in her appearance. "Are you all right?"

Ginny's eyes told her that this perceptive redhead knew her secret. She cleared her throat. "Didn't sleep well last night. I think I might be coming down with something."

Ron had stopped eating and eyed her. "No wonder, considering that slip of a dress you wore yesterday and that … _dance_ here in the cold Great Hall." Hermione saw the irritation on his face, and decided that she felt far too good to let her mood get doused by Ron's distrust. So, now he really had a reason to be jealous, and she was glad. He had accused her of cheating on him before anything happened, so why not join with Draco, as Ron was sure she already had? She would not undo last night for anything!

"You should stay in bed, Mione," Harry suggested, offering her a plate of fresh bread. She took a slice gratefully.

"Hm … I'll go see Madame Pomfrey about a potion – thank you Harry." She gave him the plate back, slathered on a fruit spread, and, realizing that she was very hungry, took a large piece of cheese Danish.

Ginny bit the inside of her cheek to avoid smiling, and put on a neutral expression. But as she met Hermione's gaze, she lifted a brow and winked, telling her friend that they would have to talk _soon_! Her gaze slid over to the Slytherin table, and she saw an obviously fatigued Draco Malfoy nibbling his breakfast absently. Abdel was not doing a very good job hiding his own grin.

The moment Draco lowered himself onto the bench, he knew that he would regret that he left his bed that day. His body ached, and as he sat down he stifled a moan. _'__By Salazar's knotty little wand, breakfast will be miserable.'_

Abdel nudged him. "You all right?" he asked, his dark eyes sparkling.

_Damn those senses! _Nodding, Malfoy grabbed his pumpkin juice and emptied it. God, he was thirsty, tired, sore, and tired – stop, he'd already covered that. There was some satisfaction that the reason for his discomfort – a certain Gryffindor with a razor-sharp mind and a body made for sin – was suffering as he was. Snatching up two slices of bread to shut up his grumbling belly, he decided to finish breakfast as soon as possible, to return to his dorm for a long winter's nap, maybe cop a potion from Madame Pomfrey first. Well, maybe the bookworm in his arms, but just to _sleep_, nothing more.

Through hooded eyes he watched his house mates talking, but their words soon faded as his thoughts drifted back to the night before.

After the bath, he had carried her back to his bed. This time, they explored each other with more care than before, having satisfied their first urgency. He had wondered at the softness of her body, her perfect curves and the enchanting smells of her skin that enveloped him like ambrosia. And he had encouraged her first explorations of his own body, almost bringing him to completion the moment she truly touched him for the first time – careful not to hurt him, her gaze full of amazement. As they finally made love again, after they had savoured one another as long as possible. He had paused many times, until he had been unable to hold back any longer and took her with him to the stars.

They had instantly fallen asleep afterwards, only to awaken in the early morning hours to surrender to this appetite yet again, which appeared to be ... insatiable.

And maybe – maybe! – three times was once too often. The scratches on his back at least weren't bleeding (Merlin, she was a wildcat with really sharp nails), he was stiff all over and his little 'friend' was practically raw. But he hadn't been able to stop himself when he found her sprawled beside him in naked glory. He couldn't resist waking her up in a way she never had been before, watching her relaxed features changing into lazy pleasure, until she moaned in her sleep only to truly awaken to the realization and delights of the ministration he gave her. The moment she realized that she wasn't dreaming, but that there was indeed someone fondling her with mouth and fingers had been pure satisfaction for him. Her widening eyes, her shocked expression, her mouth creating that perfect 'oh' as she looked down at the platinum blond head between her legs – and then the bliss on her face as he went in for the kill, sending her into ecstasy before he pushed into her, returning home.

As he lingered inside her, she laughed that 'that was the best way ever to wake up.' His chest had swelled with mischievous pride and male satisfaction, before they held each other and drifted off again, creeping out of bed three hours later, barely able to move.

And now he was paying for it. Dammit, he was…

"… right, Draco?"

Startled, Malfoy dragged his eyes right to look at Graham. "What?"

"I asked if we should begin at 11 o'clock," the other Slytherin replied, wondering where Draco's mind was this morning.

The Head-Boy blinked confused. "Begin?" Now it was Graham who was surprised, and a quick look around the table told the senior student that he must have missed something very important.

"Quidditch practice?" Patrick prompted. "You couldn't have forgotten!"

Draco barely kept his chin from dropping. Quidditch practice… _today_? Something like panic flew through him. He had to ride a _broomstick_ for three or four hours?

Abdel – who could smell Hermione all over the young man beside him, masked with soap – grinned. He knew exactly the problem Draco was having, and couldn't resist suggesting: "Maybe you should ask Madame Pomfrey for a remedy?"

The grey eyes widened in shock, pink creeping into the pale face. "W-what?" Malfoy stuttered. _Was he wearing a sign, "Had an awesome night, got laid" around his neck?_

Patrick frowned. "What happened? Are you ill?"

_Ill? No! In fact, he'd never felt better his whole life_ – but for the fatigue and aching parts. "Bellyache," he lied. "Plagued me the whole night."

"Maybe something in that dinner Slughorn served you?" Graham mused and Draco shook his head. "The others seem to be okay, so it can't be the dinner."

"Except for Granger," Daphne Greengrass pointed out, her eyes looking through them, nodding towards the Head-Girl. "She looks like a train rolled over her this morning."

_Not a train, me,_ Malfoy's thought, then answered: "Maybe we caught the same thing."

Daphne snorted inwardly. _'_ _I'll eat my broomstick if this idiot didn't have his way with her last night. Sleeping with a Mudblood! Really, Malfoy, how could you sink so low! As if your family hasn't done enough to be ashamed of!'_

Patrick had other problems. "Will you cancel practice?" he asked unhappily and Malfoy sighed deeply, knowing that he had to perform as Quidditch captain. "No, of course not. I'll go to Pomfrey, asking her for some potion. Meet me at 11 o'clock in the schoolyard." He folded his napkin. "See you!" With those words he rose from the bench and strolled towards the entrance, hoping he wasn't walking stiffly. But as he glanced quickly toward Hermione, and seeing the hidden grin of the Weaslette, who winked at him, he realized that it was only a matter of time until their secret was out in the open. Then Heaven help them both!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione managed to escape Ginny after breakfast because of Luna, who held the red haired witch back to ask her something. Seeing her chance, Hermione hastened away with "I have to do some homework!" and darted towards her dormitory. She gave the knight – who had a very unusual smirk painted on his face – the password and slipped into the common room. Crookshanks, who had taken the hint and retreated last night, sat on the golden sofa, looking up at her. Hermione heard Malfoy descending his stairs, and a second later she greeted by a very unhappy looking Draco, clothed in his Quidditch outfit.

"Where are you go … Don't tell me, you really do have Quidditch practise today?" she blurted, realizing immediately his problem.

Grimacing he nodded. "Yeah, lucky me!" He straightened his elbow pads and moaned. "Dammit all, Granger. How am I going to manage this? I can't even _sit_ properly, let alone _ride_ a broomstick for hours!"

Hermione clamped her teeth over her lips, preventing the threatening giggle. "Maybe you should consider your own suggestion by using flying sofas instead of brooms?"

He rolled his eyes. "Ha ha, Granger, really funny!"

She shrugged. "Well, it's your own fault. After all, it was you who couldn't keep hands and … that other thing away from me."

"Oh yes, as if you didn't like it," he scoffed, watching her walking to her ottoman. " 'Oh yes, Draco! Don't stop! Please don't stop!' " he mimicked her, grinning as she hurled one of the sofa cushions at him, catching it with ease – only to grimace as his shoulders answered this movement with a sharp pang. _'__By Slytherin's greedy grim expression, the next few hours will be a trial!'_

Hermione sighed. "Go to Pomfrey for a pain killer," she suggested, but he snorted.

"I already was there, asking her for a potion because of bellyache, and do you know what she told me?" As she shook her head, he growled, "She said I should have a cup of tea, have some dry toast and stay in bed. And then she kicked me out. I tell you, that hag is barbaric!"

Taking a deep breath the Gryffindor-Queen took pity on him. "Wait here," she told him and headed to her room, returning a minute later, offering him a glass of water and two white tablets she dropped into the glass. The water started to bubble instantly. "Here, this will help."

Draco stared at the drink, then sniffed. "No! No way! Not that Muggle stuff again!" he protested and Hermione threw up her hands.

"You survived the last time, didn't you? And you said that they helped you, before you learned they were made by Muggles. So, which is it? Suffering, or swallowing your pride?"

He warily took the glass, eying the liquid as if it were poison. Holding his nose with two fingers, he gulped down the two swallows and shoved the glass back into her hands, making a face as if he had swallowed spiders. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Drama queen!"

She pulled out her wand and gave it a complicated motion. A fluffy white stuff appeared in her hand, she offered him. "Here, to pad your sore parts."

He glanced curiously at the material he finally took in his hands. It was beautifully soft and thick. "What is this?" he asked.

Hermione stared at him, unbelieving. "Don't tell me you don't know what absorbent cotton is!"

"Absorb - what?"

She giggled, shaking her head. "Just stuff it in your trousers to cushion … well, you know what I mean. It will cushion… um … _it_ while you're in the air. And I'll go to Madame Pomfrey later, and ask her to give me a potion for the girl thing."

Blushing Malfoy stared at the soft material in his fingers. "You're sure it will protect 'little Draco'?"

She looked up at him, then burst out laughing. "You … you've _named_ it?" she gasped, seeing his indignant expression.

"You wouldn't understand! It's a guy thing and … Stop it, Granger! You weren't laughing at what it could do for you!"

But she couldn't stop giggling. It was surreal – having Draco Malfoy, of all people, giving his member a personal name. Suddenly he pulled her flush against him halted the giggle with a searing kiss. When he let her go, she looked at him, astonished. He nodded, satisfied. "Knew that would shut you up, Kitten." He headed back towards his room, the absorbent cotton in his grip. "Thanks for this, Hermione. I am sure treating 'him' well is in your interest, too."

Hermione watched him go, laying a hand on her heated forehead. Sweet daisy chains, where would all this lead?

TBC…

_Well, my dear Readers, now they had their first night – and there is more to come. Not only for the two, but also for all of our friends, because there are still many secrets to explore and the threats of the escaped Death Eaters and Layla will become more serious. Just wait._

_I do hope you liked this chapter and how the two reacted afterwards. I thought it was a good possibility to show, how much our Slytherin is changing (like every teen who is on the threshold of becoming an adult)._

_Please, please leave some reviews,_

_Have a nice weekend,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	41. Denials and Admissions

_Hallo, my dear Readers,_

_Even if it is a little late for the next "weekend-update" I'm certain you love to read it. You wanted a little bit more Draco-Hermione, before the next riddles and solutions concerning the Egyptians and the Death Eaters will come? Here you go!_

_Have fun,_

_Thank you so much for the reviews and a big fat "HELLO" to the new readers; thank you so very much for the encouraging words and the compliments,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 40 – Denials and Admissions**

If Hermione thought she would get away from Ginny by Luna distracting her, she was wrong. She should have known better, after all, Ginny was known for her persistence. Hermione had dashed to the hospital wing, reporting to Madame Pomfrey that she had run out of her dissolving pain medicine. She rounded the corner, and Ginny stepped out of the shadows by the knight's portrait. Her arms were crossed, she stared at her friend. The Head Girl signed. _Of course Ginny would seek her out. How could she do otherwise?_

The clever Gryffindor-friend pursed her lips, sympathy and amusement evident in her eyes. "Did you really think you could avoid me?" she asked, and Hermione scrunched her nose.

"No, not really. But honestly, Ginny I'm tired and-"

"Obviously," Ginny interrupted, eying the vial with the pink potion, recognizing it immediately. "And is there someone we know who is having some difficulty this morning?" she inquired.

Hermione shook her head. "It's not for me," she replied and gave the eaves-dropping knight the password. Ginny followed her through the portrait hole and closed the door behind her, watching her friend, resisting the urge to giggle.

"Oh, let me guess, _Malfoy_." As she met Hermione's look of mild alarm, she added, laughing, "Slytherin has Quidditch practice. He's probably quite uncomfortable today, isn't he?" Chuckling, she dropped onto the golden ottoman. "Harry had the same problem, but his practice was two days after we … well, you know." She saw her friend's fierce blush. "So, he succeeded finally," she stated. "It had to happen. You two were so setting of so many sparks that I thought one of you would explode any time now."

"Ginny…" Hermione forced out, her voice a quiet squeak.

Tossing her flaming hair, Ginny laughed out loud. "Oh Mione, please! Right or wrong, many young people have a sex life. And with Malfoy's reputation, you must have had an enjoyable night."

"Ginevra Weasley!" Hermione exclaimed, dropping the vial on the table. She fixed her friend with a stare that was half scolding, half plea. "I certainly will not discuss-"

"Yes you will, Sweety!" Ginny interrupted her. "Remember our talk? I promised that I wouldn't hold it against you if you gave in to his seduction. It's obvious you had a wonderful night. That and this," she gestured towards the vial, "tells me all I need to know. Crikey, I thought you two would ravish each other right in front of Slughorn." She snickered as she watched her friend lower her head. She took a deep breath, asking sympathetically, "How do you feel?"

Hermione kept her gaze on her hands in her lap for a long moment, then she sighed deeply. Then the memory of the last night returned, overwhelming her. She raised her head with a smile. "I feel … wonderful. Free and … somehow … strange in a confusing way." She stroked her arm absently and added, "I feel like a newborn. Everything looks different." She looked around. "Things appear clearer and…" She struggled for the words, but couldn't find the right ones to describe how different everything seemed to be all of sudden.

Ginny knew exactly of what her friend was speaking and nodded with a understanding smile. "It's like the whole world has changed, but is also the old one – as if you opened your eyes for the very first time."

Hermione glanced at her and nodded. "Yeah, exactly. And … somehow … I feel more of myself than before …"

"You're more conscious of your body. The skin has a life of its own, you feel your limbs are stronger. With every breath, you can smell him, even when he is not around," Ginny completed.

Both girls looked at each other and started to giggle, sharing the experience that had changed them. Ginny leaned back. "So … any regrets?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. I should, after all I gave myself to an old enemy, but…" She sighed dreamingly. "Gin, I never felt like this. And … he was so tender, so … so gentle …" She lowered her head. "He even showered me afterwards, and took a bath with me that he'd prepared for us."

Ginny's face showed her amazement. "He … he _bathed_ you?"

"Yeah … with candles and a cool drink. We sat for almost half an hour in our tub, with me on his lap while he held me and … oh, Ginny, it was beautiful. He even wrapped me in a towel and carried me." Her brown eyes found the blue ones, imploring her to understand. Then the other witch whistled.

"Amazing! I never pictured Draco Malfoy as the romantic type!" She shook her head. "Two possibilities – he's completely transformed, or he's hidden this under his bully behaviour all these years."

"Maybe both," Hermione whispered, leaning back next to her friend. For a long moment the two friends were silent. Then, "Do Harry and Ron suspect anything?"

"Why?"

Hermione moistened her lips. "Well … You and Harry caught us kissing …"

"The mistletoe."

"Yes, but the plant was completely used up, and we were covered with that glimmer they dump out. Any fool would know what that meant, and Harry is anything but stupid." She rubbed her temple. "And then, that dance class…"

"Yeah, you two really put on a show. Where did you learn to dance like that?"

Waving a hand, the Head-Girl mumbled, "Dancing lessons during the summer hols. My mother insisted three years ago." She sighed, turning toward her friend. "Ginny, Draco and I would like to keep… well… _us_ a secret. Temporarily. It's the best for now. But sooner or later the others are going to learn of us being … together. I do hope that Harry will accept it…"

"He will, Mione, stop worrying. He's seen how much Malfoy's changed. His new behaviour is disconcerting, but Harry's relieved to see it. And when he's convinced that Malfoy is not up to something nasty, but is serious about you, he will respect your relationship." Her expression was reassuring, and Hermione took a deep breath.

"And Ron? Things haven't turned out between us like ... like I hoped. I mean, now he's right, and I cheated-"

"You did NOT cheat. There's never been a commitment between you two. If he hadn't acted like a jealous moron, suspecting you of being disloyal and harassing you like he did, you wouldn't have turned to Malfoy."

Hermione bit her lips. "I'm not sure about that. I don't think the only reason I turned to Draco is because of Ron's behaviour. I do love your brother, you have to know that, but… but there was something missing. I only realized it as Malfoy and I got to know each other and … well … when he kissed me. After that stupid duel, when Malfoy stunned me and he tried to force me to capitulate and then we ended up snogging each other, I was furious at him, but I also felt something in me waking up for the first time I didn't know I was missing. It was strange but also familiar. This thing didn't vanish, but grew from week to week – and I didn't feel it around Ron. It has nothing to do with Draco's attempts at seduction, or the fact that he is essentially forbidden territory. No. It's more something that makes me ... whole ... when we're close." She wrung her hands. "I can't describe it, not really, but there's a huge difference between my feelings for Ron and for him."

Ginny pursed her lips. "Like Ron is more a friend and Draco is the man?"

Feeling new heat creeping into her cheeks, Hermione nodded and closed her eyes. "And honestly, I am afraid of the moment when Ron learns about us." She opened her eyes again. "I don't want to hurt him, I _never_ want to hurt him, Ginny! He and Harry have been my best friends for the past seven years, you too, but I do know their reaction of me turning to their biggest school enemy. Yeah, Draco is a member of the D.A. now and Harry's willing to tolerate him. They even get along a little better, but still…" She gulped. "Still he and Ron will be horrified when they figure it out. And I know that it will not change my decision to stay with Draco, if this … affair turns into anything more."

Ginny lifted a brow. "Do you think there will be more?"

Rubbing her neck, the Head Girl shrugged. "Somehow … yes, I do think there will be more. There already _is_ more. The way he fussed over me says a lot, not to mention the happy look in his eyes this morning when he woke up beside me and remembered what we did. I swear, he looked at me as if I were one of the seven wonders of the world." She sighed and massaged her temples. "If this goes anywhere, it will be a hard road – not only from his family, but also from our acquaintances, and I can expect that all of Gryffindor is going to be shocked when we go public, so to speak." She shook her head. "And Ron … the drama will be intense." She glanced at her friend. "I love Ron. I've felt special toward him since our fourth year, but-"

"But he needed until last summer to see it," Ginevra interrupted her. "And he won't fight for your love or work for it, but pouts, mopes around and argues. Instead of being sweet to you, giving Malfoy no chance to win you – he loses his chance," she added with a shake of her head.

"He is jealous-" Granger started, but Ginny stopped her.

"Of course Ronald is jealous. If he weren't, there would be no worry about his reaction. But his behavior only pushes you away."

"I am not someone who can turn off one relationship and jump into another," Hermione mumbled. She was at a loss for words.

Ginny smiled and lifted her hand and patted the Head Girl's curls. "Honey, I can't help you with your dilemma, know this. Regardless whom you choose, I am your friend. If you need someone to talk to, I am here for you. And however this can of worms dumps out, you will always have a friend beside you."

Tears stung the brown eyes. "Ginny, thank you. I know I hurt you all, and-"

"_Bollocks_! I already told you: I have no problem with you and Malfoy in a real relationship, as long as he doesn't use or hurt you."

Hermione shook her head. "You really don't mind? About Ron? He is your brother, after all!"

Ginny made a face, leaning back, then she slowly replied, "I do love my brother, I do, but Ronald is sometimes too proud, too stubborn. He's treated you badly for weeks now, and I am very sorry, but this is normal for him when things aren't going his way. Maybe he can change, maybe he can't, or maybe he won't." She cocked her head again, pushing a lock behind her ear. "Too bad his rival couldn't be somebody _normal_. Our families have been at odds with each other long before Draco and Ron ended up at Hogwarts together."

Hermione frowned. "How so? I mean, I do remember that day in Diagon Alley when your father and Lucius Malfoy verbally sparred, but I thought that was just something personal between them, something like the rivalry between Draco and Harry."

Leaning forward, Ginny lifted a brow. "There is an old enmity between the Malfoys and the Weasleys, and it's not just the economic differences," she began thoughtfully. "Ron knew about this. We haven't any money to spare, but we are very rich as a family. We love each other, and we stand up for each other, despite the way Fred and George always teased Ron, remember?" Hermione nodded. "When I was small, I thought all families were like mine. I guess we all think like that when we're little. It wasn't until I started here at Hogwarts that I realized that our family was a bit unusual. And since I was the only girl in a family of boys, I was able to get some new things. Ron is the youngest boy, so practically everything he ever got was hand-me-down. That was hard, I see it now. Making friends with Harry was the first really cool thing that I remember happening to him. His first letter home when he was eleven was filled with the story of his ride on the train with Harry, and the things he got to show him about being a wizard.

"But the Malfoys, well, they were wealthy aristocrats, highly respected and envied, perhaps they still are. Mr. Malfoy was always in and out of the Ministry, meeting with officials, rubbing shoulders with influential people and mentioning it at the most opportune moments. They always seem to have all the advantages, and even now, after the war, they're still living far above our standards, as far as I can tell."

Hermione held her tongue, remembering the strain the Malfoys were living under.

"So, Hermione Granger, here comes the one Ron despises, the high-and-mighty Slytherin-Prince, and appears to be stealing his girlfriend away with his dubious charms. That it's his own fault that you were even tempted to turn to Draco, he cannot see, which makes it even more complicated." She shook her head. "He possesses treasures that a Malfoy always had to live without – friends who stuck by him and didn't care a fig about his financial situation. So the son of the family he secretly envies attracts the attention of the girl he likes, and now the circle closes. Instead of accepting your friendship with Draco and remain your friend, continue to value you, to care for you, he sulks and insults you.

"It's no wonder that the gallant Head-Boy, your rescuer, finally won your heart."

Looking for a longer time at her friend, Hermione suddenly burst out: "Are you sure you don't want to be a psychologist? You seem to be doing a very good job analyzing all the players here."

Ginny blinked, confused. "What's a sacologist?"

"PSY-chologist. Someone who analyzes others thoughts and motivations, who heals souls," Hermione explained, then chuckled. "Heavens, Ginny, you look straight through us all."

She laughed. "That comes from growing up with five older brothers!" She smirked. "So, Draco seems to be a devilishly good lover -"

"_Ginny_!" Hermione squeaked, blushing again.

"- and he cares a lot about you," the other witch continued as if nothing happened. "If I were you, I'd throw him a bone, you know, give him a chance."

Hermione threw up her hands. "Ginny, we shared one night with each other…"

"A very good night, it seems."

The Head-Girl shot her a glare that Ginny answered with a grin.

"- and we haven't talked about 'later'," Hermione added. "So, don't ask me questions I don't have answers for."

Cocking her head, Ginny asked, "But you wouldn't mind a repeat, and something more serious?"

Sighing deeply, Hermione bit her lip, swallowed and finally nodded. "Yeah!" she admitted softly. "I've seen another side of him and … and I would love to explore the true Draco Malfoy."

Her friend nodded. "There you have your answer. Give it a try. I do think Draco wants the same, but being a dysfunctional bloke – and worse than that, a proud Slytherin – he certainly will have trouble telling you that."

Pressing her lips between her teeth, Hermione tucked herself into the corner of her ottoman. "He isn't the type to discuss emotions. Well, yesterday evening he did, but just to beg me to come to him and how much he needed me, but that's all. He certainly never said anything about love or a relationship. He's been brought up entirely differently than you and I. But that's just another facet of the enigma." She laid her head back, glancing at her friend. "Those hidden bits and bobs of him, the secrets of his inner life which are leaking out here and there, all of Draco Malfoy is like a … a … a drug I can't get enough of." Sparks danced in her eyes at the thought of her lover. "After last night, he is about to become the one I don't want to be away from ever again."

Ginny leaned toward the Head-Girl, her hand on her friend's arm. "Mione, we don't choose whom we're attracted to. Malfoy is handsome, elegant, intelligent, skilled, and possesses a dark aura that increases the temptation. Plus he was your long-time nemesis who became your hero. He challenges you completely, your skills and knowledge as witch, your points of view concerning him, and your deep-rooted loyalty towards your friends. And is a bloody good lover, it seems, caring for your well-being, something neither of us expected. Of course you're attracted to him now, since he finally let go of that nonsense about blood status. More than that, he is your first, he'll always hold a special place in her heart. You trusted Draco enough to give yourself to him, and he didn't betray your trust. It's no wonder you want to see where this can go."

Hermione groaned. "I never thought it could be like this. I've often thought about my first time, of course, but … I never imagined such this tenderness, such pleasure and … and such bliss. I couldn't get enough from him, and it seems he felt the same way."

Ginny grinned. "How often?"

The Head-Girl snorted. "The third time was definitely once too often."

Ginny gasped, "_Three times_?" She whistled. "You two were on fire!"

"Ask me how I feel now. I could fell asleep in three seconds.

"Of course," she smiled, "with his arms around you."

"_Ginevra Weasley_!" Hermione groaned, and found herself joining her friend's outburst of laughter

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco returned four hours later – limping, pale, soaked through and dirty. Anyone could see the pain in his eyes, but also the pride as he entered the common room, holding his broom in one hand. Hermione, alone for the last two hours studying on the sofa, rose and looked at him. "Oh my…" she whispered, and he grimaced.

"Yeah," was all he grumbled, before he dropped his Nimbus, pulled off the robe and walked stiffly to his ottoman, sinking into it with a moan, ignoring the mess covering him. Groaning he bent forward and braced himself on his elbows.

"Did … did any of the stuff help?" Hermione asked tentatively and met his silver eyes.

"Yes, well, sort of. And then this happened!" He indicated a dark bruise on his right temple. "Graham must have lost control!"

Taking a glass from the table, the Head-Girl offered to him. "Here, I got it from Pomfrey."

He looked at the pink liqueur and then up at her. "She gave you a pain killer?" he asked.

She smiled sheepishly. "Well, I told her I'd run out of aspirin and I'm having some, um, difficulty with ... my monthly ... just now." She blushed, as she caught his gaze.

"You _lied_ for me?"

Draco couldn't believe his ears. He thought she'd been joking about going to Pomfrey, but she really had fibbed to help him. Again. He rose, smirking, ignoring the aches and pains that seemed to be everywhere on his frame, and bend down, whispering in her ear. "As I told you before, you would have made an excellent Slytherin!"

Giggling Hermione brushed her lips against his wet cheek. "I always stand up for my friends."

He cocked his head, his stormy grey eyes now quite serious. "So I am … your friend?"

She matched his gaze. "Of course! What did you think?"

He wriggled his brows. "I would prefer ... 'lovers'." Promptly she blushed. He pulled her gently to him and stole a soft kiss. He then took the glass from her. "Thank you, Kitten," he murmured, genuinely grateful. Quickly he downed the potion and pulled a face at the taste.

"Well, I must admit that the Muggle stuff tastes a little better, but I'm still ... suspicious."

Hermione laughed and shook her head. "You're hopeless, Draco Malfoy!"

He nodded, grinning. "I know. I'm hopelessly drawn to you." Stealing another chaste kiss, he took his broom and headed towards his room. "I'm taking a long hot shower and then, I think, I have earned a nap." He looked back over his shoulder. "Care to join me?"

"_Draco_!" she squeaked, and, laughing, he walked up the few stairs to his bedroom, wondering just how often he'd laughed over the last few days. Certainly far more often than could be counted in all the years before. And it felt so damn _good_ to feel so light-hearted for a change; to feel joy, happiness instead of dread and sorrow.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They slept for almost the whole afternoon. Hermione had asked Kreacher to bring some hot chocolate, and when Draco returned from the shower, clad only in sweatpants, a loose t-shirt and warm socks, he was grateful to find a cup full of the heavenly sweet beverage he loved so much. His heart went out once again to this witch with the big heart. Both lingered over the hot drink and stretched out on their sofas, only to fall asleep quickly – homework and other duties forgotten. And they both made it down to the Great Hall just in time for dinner. Having skipped lunch, both were hungry now, and parted after they stepped through the portal, moving to their house tables.

Harry and Ron looked up, while Ginny smirked at her, winking. "Mione! We missed you," Harry greeted her, and Ron lifted a brow; his expression unreadable. "Not coming to our common room now?" He winced as his sister kicked him under the table and hit him full on the shin. _Merlin's weathered robe, that __hurt_!

"I already told you Hermione is fighting a cold. She was on her way to bed for a nap when I visited her!" Ginny grumbled, shaking her head. "Really, boys, sometimes your memories are useless."

Harry glanced thoughtfully at his girlfriend, knowing that she was hiding something from him. Another look at the Head-Girl beside him made it clear that both girls shared a secret he wasn't sure he needed to know. Therefore, he dropped the topic and smiled. "Feeling better?"

Hermione sighed. "Yes, sort of, but – still really tired." She put her napkin on her lap. "I promise you, as soon as I have dinner, I'm off to bed. And cross your fingers that I'm back to normal tomorrow. After all, we have a test in Ancient Runes then."

"I'm sure you'll fail, like all the others before," Harry teased, which earned him a playful slap and laughter from the others around them.

Only Ron stared at her. Somehow, Hermione Granger had changed. He couldn't put a finger on it, but there was a shift in her, a glow that seemed to come straight from her soul and wrapped her in an invisible light. And he knew that she had drifted further away from him than ever before.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Both Hermione and Draco fell like stones onto their beds, but sleep didn't come quickly. And after they had their first deep rest, both awoke, feeling oddly alone and uncomfortable with the empty space beside them. It ended with her walking to his room, only to find him already at the door, letting her in without a word. Slipping under his blankets, covered with the warm Slytherin comforter, Hermione snuggled against him and smiled, as he took her in his arms, relaxing with a deep sigh. Soon both were unconscious, and slept soundly through the rest of the night, waking up refreshed.

In the Great Hall, dozens of animated conversations greeted them. For a moment, Hermione was sure their secret had been revealed. But the reason for the buzz in the Great Hall was a report in the _Daily Prophet. _Lestrange and several of his Death Eaters had been spotted in Yorkshire, trying to break into a Muggle museum. A wizard living there recognized them immediately and informed the Ministry. Aurors had instantly arrived, and there had been a brief battle. The Death Eaters had escaped. Three Muggles got hurt and had to be healed and obliviated. Shacklebolt contacted the Muggle Prime Minster and informed him of the incident, reassuring him that everything was under control. After the extended silence around Lestrange and his fellows, this sudden appearance was disturbing, and for the rest of the day, they heard discussions about the latest news.

Tuesday arrived and departed. Hermione and Draco recovered from Saturday night. And with their healing, their desire for each other grew. And after the next dance lesson Wednesday afternoon, the tension between them was thick enough to make even McGonagall ask them if everything were all right. After dinner, they must do some homework, but quill and parchments were forgotten the moment Draco caught Hermione around her waist and pressed her to him, his mouth finding hers in a fierce kiss. Forgetting everything around them, they found themselves an hour later on the floor in front of the fireplace, both nude, out of breath and delighting in the warm bath of the afterglow.

Schoolwork was ignored. They talked with each other about things they hadn't dared to share with anyone else, only to feel the hunger reawakening, and making love yet again. That night, he carried her to her room and remained there for the first time, grumbling the next morning about 'this bloody red and gold,' which only made her laugh.

It was plain to them that they were both completely at peace with their arrangement. Smiles lingered just under the surface of their expressions, even during class. During Transfiguration and Charms, they performed spells with an ease that took the others by surprise. Patrol was accompanied by laughter that perplexed the other two Prefects who shared their duty. Draco even let two fifth-year Ravenclaws off the hook when he caught them after curfew, simply waving them away. Hermione surprised two Hufflepuffs sneaking off to the Astrology tower. She warned them not to get caught again and dismissed them. During the next Prefect meeting Friday, Malfoy was in such a good mood that he even made jokes, enjoying the heartfelt laughter from his school mates, and Hermione beamed at him.

Harry quietly observed all of these changes. Saturday afternoon, during the mandatory dance lessons, Hermione was partnered with him, showing him how to do a proper waltz. He watched her closely, then his eyes darted to a smiling Malfoy who was attempting teach a Ravenclaw girl the same. He saw Draco glance at Hermione, winking at her. The puzzle piece snapped into place.

"Hermione, if 'nothing is going on' between you and Malfoy, I wouldn't want to guess how you two would behave _if_ something was going on."

Hermione cleared her throat. "Watch your feet, Harry," she answered, as if she hadn't heard him.

Her friend raised a dark eyebrow. "Hermione Granger, you can't deny it any longer. You both are floating on pink clouds, and I can guess why."

Looking straight into the green eyes, Hermione replied, "If you already know, why ask?"

Sighing, Harry moved her in the new direction; his expression softening. "I don't want you hurt, you know."

She smiled at him, thankful. "I know, Harry, but I think you can trust me in this."

He gave her a crooked smile, and turned them both around several times, before he changed direction again. "So… what's going on?"

The answer came with hesitation. "We… are growing closer." An understatement. Hermione was amazed by how many positions bliss could be given and taken. – "I'm willing to give Draco a chance." The last sentence was uttered so softly Harry almost didn't catch it.

Nodding slowly, they whirled about the Great Hall, and then he asked gently: "And Ron?"

She bit her lower lip before she honestly replied: "I don't know, Harry, really. For now, we've drifted apart. He hurt me badly. Yes, I accepted his apology but I haven't forgotten what he said to me and accused me of."

The dance was nearing the end, and Harry quickly took the last opportunity to gather more information. "So, he was he just accusing you, or was he right in thinking that you and Malfoy are more than just friends?"

Hermione thought a moment before she carefully replied: "Ron and I aren't exactly together anymore, in case you hadn't noticed. Ron is a dear friend, but… but I don't know if we really are going to be a couple." Her last words were nearly drowned out by the relieved applause of the students after the dance finished, and the two friends joined them. Then Harry turned to her, bowed, and led her to the edge of the dance floor. Hermione bit her lip again, then hastily whispered: "Please, Harry, not a word to Ron. I'm still sorting out my feelings and… and I don't want to hurt him."

Cocking his head, the boy who lived nodded slowly. "That is inevitable, if you turn away from him," he whispered. "And maybe the sooner you do it the better, if you tell him the truth." He saw Draco approaching, relaxed, his expression curious. Harry sighed inwardly. It was obvious that the two had become comfortable with each other, and he didn't know what he should think of it. Nevertheless Hermione was his best friend along with Ron, and he wouldn't abandon her if she chose a direction not to his liking. "Don't make any hasty decisions, Mione. This is still Draco Malfoy. He is still a Slytherin, which says a lot. Remember that." Draco had almost reached them. "Whatever comes, Mione, I'll stay by your side," he whispered, squeezed her hand and was surprised by the depth of the gratitude and relief on her face. He turned towards the tall platinum blond wizard who now stood with them.

"Malfoy, I think it's your turn now," he said, stepping back from the girl.

The Slytherin-Prince nodded. "Yes. It is." he said simply, looking at her affectionately.

Harry, still feeling odd about the friendly terms he was enjoying with his former nemesis, grinned. "I have to warn you, she counts every beat and step."

"Well, if you had any trouble, then your feet are too big or you are too slow. She's never stepped on mine," came the softly mocking reply.

Surprised again by the friendly banter, Harry waved a hand. "Have fun," he said and headed towards Ginny, who smiled at him.

Hermione looked up to her Head-partner and secret lover. "We certainly will. So, we're allowed to dance together at last?"

"Even if our Headmistress stood on her head and wiggled her ears, I _will_ dance with you!" he vowed, pulling her closer.

Giggling, she followed him, everyone's eyes on them as Draco swept her into the start position, slipping one arm around her waist and holding her hand in his. He met the gaze of the headmistress, nodded politely towards her and started to dance the moment Flitwick put the needle on the disk. The other students watched them with awe and no little envy, while Professor McGonagall pursed her lips. The two definitely had come to terms, and she knew it was probably better if she didn't know just_ how_ close her Head-Students had grown to one another.

TBC…

_I hope you liked it this way. Well that Ginny would stand by her friend was certain. And that Harry gets all suspicious was clear, too; after all he is very good when it comes to secrets and hide._

_Next chapter you are going to witness some more incredible senses of our Egyptian friends and will learn more about them. And we are nearing Christmas (no, please don't look out of the window, I know that I'm either a half year too late or a half year too early – laugh)._

_Please, please leave some more reviews, so that I know how you liked it._

_Have a nice week,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	42. Too Many Coincidences

_My dear Readers!_

_I am so, so sorry that the new update lasted so long, but work has become difficult and more, and therefore time was running short. Nevertheless I do hope you're still with us and are eager to read the next part._

_As already given the hint, you will learn more about the abilities of the Egyptian students, there are also several sweet scenes and you will come to know about the dress, Hermione bought back in Hogsmeade at Halloween._

_And now, at last, a big fat thank-you for the reviews, especially SharpestSatire. I never got such a long review, so thank you very, very much._

_So, off to Hogwarts,_

_Have fun,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 41 – Too Many Coincidences**

Christmas holidays were approaching. Everyone sat for tests, spells and charms were performed, and the excitement over the upcoming Christmas-ball was rising. The arrangements for the entertainment were nearing completion, and decorations appeared all over the school, while McGonagall and Sprout coordinated with the chief cook about the menu. It was only two days away, then the winter break would come, along with the departure of most of the Hogwarts students.

The four Egyptian guests were to stay in Hogwarts. Travel to their home wasn't practical for such a short time. Edis was pleased when he learned that Luna was staying at the castle, too, along with several of the other students he had come to like. And Abdel and Neriman weren't bothered at all that a few from their host houses would remain in Hogwarts, too. Officially they would use the time for studying, and Layla offered to take care of the green houses for Madame Sprout, that she had a special interest in things botanical. Of course Abdelghani would remain at the school, too, but he would not be alone. He happily informed McGonagall that he had received a letter from an old friend who had been his mentor, and who had business on the island, and wanted to visit. Of course she agreed. Why shouldn't she? Akay's friend was also meeting with the Minister of Magic and other leaders of the ministry, and she'd heard he was a very wise and experienced old wizard, and was looking forward to meeting him.

Harry would go with Ron and Ginny to the Weasleys, still in hiding somewhere in Ireland, and Hermione would return home to her parents. They would return to Hogwarts separately. Shacklebolt had offered to take the four young wizards to the Ministry. From there, Ron, Ginny and Harry could travel the floo-network to the Weasleys, and Hermione would apparate to her parents' new house, reducing the risk of being tracked down by Lestrange and his fellows. Kingsley took the Death Eaters' threats very seriously. He was still auror from head to toe, and "there would be no regrettable incidents on _his _watch." It was known that The Golden Trio was probably first on the Death Eaters' list, followed by the families who aided in Riddle's demise, like the Lovegoods and the Longbottoms. (Neville was safe in the Ministry, training to become an auror. His grandmother had relocated to France and was living under a different name.) And, of course, the Malfoys. Therefore Draco would transport directly from the Headmaster's Office fireplace to the family manor, still protected by the additional wards and spells.

Harry, Ron and Ginny were excited about travelling to Ireland, Ron not even minding that there was a lecture ahead from his father. But Hermione, it seemed, wasn't thrilled about returning home. And neither was her Head-partner. They had grown closer over the last two weeks, with barely a night they didn't spend together, even if they only slept. Both being only children, they'd never had to sleep with anyone close by. But both had made it a pleasant habit. It was wonderful to wake up beside the other, mostly spooning, and both learned more about the other every day. So Hermione noticed that Draco wasn't really a morning person, and needed some time to wake up. Hermione, on the other hand, had no problem with rising early – except when she and Malfoy spent most of the night enjoying one another – and was usually the first into the shower. Three times Draco joined her, still half asleep, yelping when she turned the water cold, which made her laugh so hard that tears came to her eyes. Then she kissed his pout away.

And they did homework together or practiced spells. Draco had even begun to teach her wandless magic. But here was one subject that Hermione couldn't conquer so easily. She was certain it wasn't her fault, but having Draco so near whenever they trained was so bloody _distracting_. She couldn't seem to concentrate properly, which made him laugh, which made her scowl, which made him, tease her, and then to ... well, _other_ things.

And with each passing day of harmony and sweet nights, they felt the moment of parting more acutely. They would be a mere fortnight without each other, but they were not looking forward to the separation, even though Narcissa Malfoy had told her son they had a surprise for him for Christmas day. Once Draco even toyed with the thought of inviting Hermione to the manor, but considering her last visit there and the glacial reception she would get from his parents, he dropped the idea almost as soon as he'd picked it up. He knew that she still had to rebuild her parents' trust and their family. She didn't voice her desire for Draco to join her at her home.

That afternoon, Hagrid tramped into the Great Hall, dragging an enormous evergreen which he placed behind the teachers' table. He was wheezing by the time the tree was finally put in the stand. Filch watched him, loudly mumbling complaints about the mess from the door to the other end of the Great Hall. Prefects and the Head-Students were busy decorating the hall, hiding smiles as the Care of Magical Creatures professor finally had enough and gave the caretaker a piece of his mind, telling him bluntly to sod off. Most of the pupils were quite fond of the half giant, considering him one of themselves, with his lackadaisical teaching style and ... unique appearance.

Draco shook his head, casting a sidelong glance at Hagrid and the caretaker. "Never thought I'd say it, but the big oaf has his moments," Draco whispered.

She giggled. "Be careful that he doesn't make you to 'sod off', too."

Malfoy smirked. "I'm Head-Boy, remember? He can't expel me."

"Indeed I could, lad, be sure of it,"

The rumbling voice was right behind him. They both turned. Hagrid's eyes twinkled when he saw both surprised looks. He stroked a finger over the girl's cheek. "Ever thin' a'right, Herm'one?" he asked

She beamed, "Never better!"

Hagrid nodded fondly. Then his eyes pierced the silver blond Slytherin. "An' you, Malfoy? Still lovin' yer job here?"

Surprised to hear kind words from the man he had disrespected for years, he nodded. "Yes, Professor, I do," he answered sincerely.

The other man grinned. "Fine, fine! Always knew y' had it in ya!" He pointed at the tree. "Make it pretty. Was bloomin' hard t' get it 'ere."

Hermione patted his arm. "Trust us, Hagrid, you're going to love the tree when we're done with it."

Rubeus nodded. "Hope so, Herm'one. Important guests comin' t' th'e party, along with some reporters. An' none of them is gonna get the chance to say tha' we 'ave an ugly Christmas tree."

"Important guests?" Draco looked up. "Hm," he said, looking back to the decorations he was putting up, "I wonder who they are."

Hagrid's eyes darted over the Prefects, who were all busy at the moment, then cleared his throat, bent down and whispered: "Th' Minister from Egypt and 'nother famous wizard ar' comin' with 'im." He straightened, suddenly remembering. "I ... shouldn't'a tol' you that. Nope, I should not'a tol' you that. McGonagall will have me head."

Hermione and Draco quickly replied, "No worries, Hagrid." "Mum's the word." Relieved, he winked at the two and left the hall – and the Heads glanced at each other. "The Egyptian Minister and another wizard are visiting Shacklebolt here?" Hermione murmured, walking around the large green fir.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "Intriguing. Egyptian artefacts stolen from museums all over Europe, two raids in London, Egyptian students sharing their souls with ancient gods, and now their Minister coming to visit. And lingering somewhere in the background is that long-dead dark wizard, connected to those artefacts by the king he murdered." He stopped and faced her. "Too many coincidences."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, and two accomplished aurors coming with our Minister. It sounds like we have most of the pieces, but not how they fit together."

Draco dropped a few more baubles into place. "We would surely learn more if we could be a fly on the wall."

She took a deep breath. "Harry's invisibility cloak."

He nodded, eyes twinkling. "Exactly! I think Potter has a new mission."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry received Hermione's summons on the coin and visited her dormitory. He listened eagerly to the news from Hagrid. Agreeing that the visit of the Egyptian Minister couldn't be a mischance, he too pointed out that there were too many connections. Together, they worked out a plan for Harry to shadow Shacklebolt and the others on their way to their inevitable meeting. Hermione would prepare the beaded handbag as she did the year before, filling it with everything they would need in case they had to flee. That's what happened at Fleur's and Bill's wedding reception. The other members of the D.A. would be following McGonagall, the two ministers and the aurors, and would keep Hermione informed by using the coin she would wear around her neck. As soon as got warm she would find an excuse to get Harry away from whomever he was talking or dancing with. They could then leave the Great Hall, and she could give him the cloak.

They quickly summoned the members of the D.A., covering their assembly with another 'Prefect meeting', and told the rest of the group the plan. Reactions were mixed, from cautious expectancy to enthusiasm. Everybody wanted to be informed as soon as anything was learned. Harry promised to do what he could.

Morning, two days later, the festival began. The excitement within the walls of Hogwarts was palpable. The Great Hall was beautifully decorated, the Christmas tree sparkled and glistened with thousands of candles and stars, fairies soared giggling through the branches, sprinkling it with their glitter, walls covered in permanent icicles, replicating the fabled Snow Queen's ice palace. Even breakfast held innumerable delicacies, and most of the students complained of overindulgence afterwards. (Hermione made a quick visit to the kitchen, checking on the house elves. She was assured that they loved all the extra work. And some of them laughed as they chased her out with promises of scrumptious delights to come.)

Later that morning, several Hogsmeade shopkeepers delivered special orders to the school, along with several crates of exotic herbs and boxes of food the house elves would need to prepare the oriental meals – courteous gesture toward Hogwarts' guests. Abdel and Edis were passing through the Entrance Hall when the delivery came, and grinned at each other as they recognized the packages from home. They had grown accustomed to the strange foods served at Hogwarts, and were very fond of several dishes, but the prospect of food from home made their mouths water.

As a portion of the delivery vanished into the direction of the kitchen, a younger man came through the door, inexpertly levitating a broad crate of plants before him. "Beg pardon, these are for Madame Sprout. Know where I can find 'er?" he asked the two foreign looking students. He was suddenly distracted as the crate tipped precariously, and he inexpertly fumbled with his wand.

Abdel smiled, pointing the way, "Not here, but the green house is… Edis, what?"

He heard the rumbling growl behind him, barely in range of his hearing. Quickly turning, he saw Edis' eyes flashing golden, the ghost of a long snout momentarily appeared before his face. Abdel immediately stepped between him and the delivery boy. Speaking their native tongue, he whispered fiercely: "Edis, what is it? Control yourself! _He's_ coming out!" Abdel saw his friend opening and closing his black fists, momentarily transforming into paws, eyes flaming. Spinning his friend around, he threw an excuse over his shoulder, "Sorry, my friend doesn't feel well. The caretaker will be here in a minute." With those words he shoved Edis out of the entrance hall and down to the dungeon level, and from there to an empty classroom. Locking the door behind them he turned to his friend and glared.

"What is going on, Edis? You almost transformed in front of that visitor! Is it your intention to give away our secret? What-"

"It's HIM!" came the answer, while Edis obviously fought with the jackal inside. As he caught the confused question in his friend's eyes, he added in a voice that was barely human anymore: "The other werewolf, the large professor want so desperately to catch, it's _him_. I recognized the wolf in him by his smell. It's the same one that attacked Draco and Hermione when we first arrived."

Abdel stood, shocked. Then he cursed. "And he must be the one who told the Death Eaters of the students' visit to Hogsmeade via his maker – that Greyback. Splendours!" He threw his hands up. "We know who the beast is, and have no way to inform the Headmistress about it!" He strode restlessly back and forth across the front of the room.

As he looked at Edis, he couldn't see his friend anymore, but faced the tall, eerie shape of a large black man with the head of a jackal. The words spoken through the razor sharp fangs were no longer that of their native country, but a long-forgotten language seen only now in the hieroglyphs. Abdel understood the words, "Just let me follow him and he is history!"

Sighing, Abdel shook his head, falling into the old language, too. "You cannot murder him. You are bound by the law of this country. And, besides, Professor McGonagall is already suspicious. We don't have to give her any more pieces to the puzzle. If anyone sees you, we're finished."

Another frightening growl escaped his friend, and fangs were bared. He put his hand on the hard-muscled arm of the creature that had taken control of Edis, looking him in the face, and calling out to his comrade: "Edis, I know that you hear me. You must control _him_. We are not in our land and must follow the rules of our hosts. And we are not here to destroy a few werewolves, but to prevent Aphobis from coming to power – to protect the Light. So, please, leave it alone!"

With relief he saw the fierce golden eyes regaining some humanity, while the dark fur again became skin. Smiling, he clapped the - still far too broad - shoulder that was returning to normal size. "We will take care of it, Edis. There will be a way to stop that abomination."

The uncanny, terrifying image of Anubis gradually crumbled away, revealing the smaller and very human shape of Edis, who took several deep calming breaths, obviously exhausted. Trembling, he gratefully leaned against a desk, waiting for his sight to clear again, dispelling the brilliant colours and the deep shadows his 'other' eyes saw, his hearing also dwindling to the normal hearing ability of a human. Still, the fury of denial was echoing in him. Anubis had several tame character traits, performing the role of a judge in the afterlife, but he still had the wild instincts of the animal he presented. And right this moment Edis was barely controlling the latter. The rage of Anubis was pawing at his insides, howling into his soul, while his body jerked, battling with the ancient creature that wanted to take shape within him. He walked to one of the desks on trembling legs and sat down, grateful that Abdel was with him. The presence of the ghost of the Re's Eye in him always soothed the dark side of the jackal.

"I thank you," he mumbled, the voice his own again. "There … there are times I loathe the fact that we were chosen to be bound to … to _them_." He lifted his face to his friend, looking almost forlorn. "I do cherish our old gods, even if they are no more than shadows now, and I am honoured that one of them chose me to fulfil this task, but there are moments _he_ scares the day out of me. Especially when he goes jackal. I am not violent by nature, you know, rather the opposite. But this desire of his to kill just now horrifies me."

Abdel leaned against the desk beside him, and hung an arm around his friend's shoulder. "I know. I too am not accustomed to recognizing everything and everybody around me after I change. When I look at myself, I see the normal me, but with him over me when _he_ has taken control. Often I can master him, but still he frightens me – even after years since I was linked to _The Eye_." He snorted, remembering the few weeks before. "The moment I was aware it was Draco who was following Layla, and I knew I had to stop him before she was aware that he had seen her transformed, I had to use every ounce of myself to hold back. I'm sure _it_ would have killed him."

Running his fingers through his black hair, Edis stretched his shoulders. "You have befriended Draco Malfoy, have you not?"

"Yes. I think that we could be good friends, if circumstances were different. He is intelligent, skilled, well-bred, and takes his responsibilities seriously, cares for others. I have learned that he was quite the bully in earlier years, but he has changed. I also sense confusion and a certain amount of pain in him, possibly an echo from an encounter with darkness that a wizard his age should never have had to face – as I've seen in many other students, especially Harry. They have scars in their souls, both hearts have bled too much, but still there is light enough, more than enough, in them to heal them and others." Suddenly he grinned. "Most notably obvious in Draco, after Slughorn's party. I swear, I could smell the musk on him and Hermione before they entered the room!"

Edis, finally returned to normal, chuckled. "Indeed, their scents had my head spinning during the party. It even inspired me to almost kiss Luna -" He shut his mouth with a click, earning hearty laughter from his friend.

"Don't try to hide it, mate. I already know how you feel about her. I was even a bit afraid that you would turn on Draco as he watched you two during the party."

Edis shook his head. "Draco was not watching us, but me. I'm certain he knows something. He is far too insightful for his own good." He sighed, smiling suddenly, the tender feelings finally completely suppressing the other being. "But you're right. Luna is … special. She has the second sight, sees the truth behind the masks. She can look right through you. I almost sure she can read minds – not on purpose, but instinctively. And," he gulped, "I am certain that she has seen _it_."

"She has seen you in your other form?" Abdel asked in alarm, but Edis shook his head.

"No, not that. But she knows that there is another side of me. She knew from the moment we first met." He looked at his friend, his golden amber eyes shining brightly. "And it does not frighten her. There is an understanding in her I've never felt in another who wasn't one of us. She is seen as different among the other students. She knows our souls are related."

"But Luna has friends," Abdel remarked.

"Yes, of course. She is friends with Harry, Ron and Hermione, and she is accepted by the others, but she feels a bit like an outcast – as we do at times. Perhaps this is why I am drawn to her." He shrugged and Abdel grinned.

"And that she wears the name of the moon that your other part is so involved with. And I'll wager you find her attractive enough to want her for your own?"

Smacking his shoulder, Edis rose. "Too true, my friend." He straightened his clothes. "Come on, it's almost time for the midday meal, and the others will miss us."

Groaning, Abdel followed him. "Are they trying to fatten us? An enormous breakfast, now lunch, and then the evening banquet..." He groaned again. "Two more days of this and nothing I own will fit."

Edis only laughed and unlocked the door. "Wear your long tunics, no one will notice how 'fat' you've grown." He dodged the playful smack, and, feeling better, they left the classroom.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

"Where to?" Draco watched Hermione heading toward the door with the clothing bag from the Hogsmeade dress shop and her cosmetic case in her other hand.

"To see Ginny. We're going to help each other get ready for the party," she said.

Draco pulled a face. "But … I thought we could …"

"No time for that now, Draco." She pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. "A girl needs time to pretty herself, don't you think?"

"I like you the best without any clothes," he grumbled and smirked as she smacked his arm.

"Just wait, you'll be glad you waited. You'll love it."

The answer 'I love everything about you' nearly fell out of his mouth, but he bit his tongue before he voiced it, amazed at the thought of what almost had spilled out. He wasn't ready to commit his emotions to words, knowing that it was far too early in their relationship, but she somehow seemed to have heard him, for her eyes were shining. "See you later," she smiled, tossing a wave at him. He promptly rushed to the door and held it open for her.

"Remember that we have to be in the Great Hall at five o'clock, Kitten," he reminded her. "Oh, and keep in mind that Shacklebolt will be there and-"

"Malfoy, stop it!" she interrupted him, grinning. "I already told you that I will dress up for the evening, and you had nothing to complain about last time, so stop bossing me."

He gaped at her. "I do never 'boss' you, Granger. I'm not a bloody Gryffindor."

She already was out in the corridor and blew him a kiss over her shoulder. "No, that you are not – but you _are_ a sweet Slytherin!"

He was momentarily speechless while he watched her walk away, hips swaying, hair tossing. Then he found his voice again. "Have you gone mad, Granger? A Slytherin, and least of all _me_, is never 'sweet'!"

"Oh, but when I remember my Justin all those years back…" an older portrait witch down the hallway sighed dreamingly. "He was a Slytherin, but-"

"Stay out of it!" he growled, turning his attention back to the vanishing Hermione. "Do you understand me, Kitten? I am not-"

"Later, 'sweetheart'!" she called back, rounding a corner.

"Hmm, 'Sweetheart,' and 'Kitten'," the knight in the portrait by the door chuckled. Draco turned to tell the painting to shut up, then saw the two second-year Hufflepuffs standing behind him, watching him incredulously, then breaking into giggles. Feeling blood rushing into his face, the Head-Boy snapped: "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be somewhere? Sod off, or you're getting Detention!"

"That is no way to behave as Head-student," Lady Abigail's portrait scolded.

Sagging under the criticism, Malfoy wearily turned to her. "Why is it portrait people are always sticking their noses in other people's business?"

"Sharing years of wisdom, boy," she answered loftily, and the Slytherin-Prince snorted.

"Is that what you call it!" Waving the two Hufflepuffs away, he returned into the common room, shutting the door loudly behind him.

The knight shook his head. "Temper, temper!" he sighed, but Malfoy happily couldn't hear him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ginny, Neriman and Wilhelmina stared at Hermione. "Great ... Blessed ... Mother ... McCrory!" Willie sighed.

"Do you think it will do?" she asked tentatively, and Ginevra looked at her as if she'd lost her mind.

"Are you serious? You're … you're so ... _beautiful_!" Neriman murmured.

"She's right. It seems this dress was made only for you, Mione," Ginny said reverently, then she bit her lip. Hermione was honestly breathtaking in the gown she'd picked out.

It was layers of a cool silver blue taffeta, the same colour as the ice on the lake in the winter, with a sheer film of tulle in a light green of spring floating atop the floor-length skirt that fell from a tiny waist. The tulle was shaped into the bodice, looking like leaves enveloping her upper body, and then spreading wide across the back of the skirt down to the floor. It was gathered in the front and was draped across one shoulder, held by silk mistletoes. Tiny silver rhinestones glistened in the folds of the top, silken mistletoes. The layers peeped open along the right to reveal shapely leg whenever she moved. The back of the bodice plunged nearly to her waist in an open 'V', held by spaghetti strings the same colour as the taffeta. The whole dress hugged her slim body perfectly, but the flaring skirt also gave her the room to move freely and to dance. She wore a pair of silver blue pumps with low heels, not too high to be comfortable.

She'd used a significant portion of her birthday gift of Sleekeasy's Hair Potion on her hair, bringing it under control and pinning it up with a charm and a clip disguised as a mistletoe. One long honey-coloured strand curled down onto her bare right shoulder, and several tiny curls danced around her face. Delicate silver snowflakes glistened on her ears, with a sparkling silver chain around her neck, the pendant disappearing in the valley between her breasts. Only the members of the D.A. knew that it was an enchanted Knut, the message coin she would use to stay in touch with Harry. Her make-up was applied with a light touch, only accentuating her natural beauty. Transparent nail polish and the breath of glimmer powder here and there finished the masterpiece before them.

Ginny, already wearing her own velveted ball robe, looked at her friend appraisingly. "Well, I remember a book Harry gave me with Muggle fairytales. There was a story in it about a girl that had lost first her mother, then her fathered married again, and then died, and she was forced by her stepmother to work in the kitchen. Then she got help from ... a fairy or something, dressed up for a ball the king was giving and his son promptly fell in love with her."

Hermione giggled. "Cinderella, you mean. Yes, she's one of my favourites."

Ginny grinned at her, seeing the 'prince' in the fairytale as a certain Slytherin. As Wilhelmina asked Neriman for a hand with the closure of her own dress, Ginevra leaned toward Hermione and whispered: "Didn't you buy this as payback to the Head-Boy? Weren't you going to show him a cold shoulder?" She tapped at her friend's bare shoulder, and smirked: "I warned you that it might backfire, didn't I?"

Hermione blushed and whispered back: "There will be no backfiring tonight."

Giggling, Ginny began arranging her own heavy, auburn hair. She grinned at the mirror to her friend: "You know, if he hadn't had you already, he would certainly be reduced to a puddle by that dress." Putting a golden comb in her hair, she winked. "And I'm certain he won't let anyone else near you for the entire evening."

"Who won't anyone come near you?" Wilhelmina interjected, and Hermione blushed.

Ginny replied happily, "Her admirers. I think she will inspire lot of them."

Neriman, who had heard the entire subdued conversation, smiled to herself, and slipped into a golden oriental robe. "Yes, but I think there will be someone present who will chase all others away." She winked at Hermione and wrapped the silk about her. It clung to her waist, opening in the middle of the skirt, crossing over her breasts, beautifully reminiscent of the dresses of the ancient Egypt painted on so many parchments and walls in her home country.

Hermione gave and admiring "Ooooh!" thinking that no other robe could have looked so well on Neriman. And as their visitor easily applied the ancient style of Egyptian cosmetic, Hermione knew that she was not only seeing Neriman, but also a very old individual looking out through the friendly human face…

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Prefects gathered at the entrance by the Great Hall and watched the two bands (The Jolly Witches and The Swinging Harpies) setting up for their performance. Instruments were unpacked, curtains were draped around invisible columns, here or there instruments were being tuned. Flitwick alternated between them, delighted to work with real musicians around him. (Why he had become Charms Professor and not Music Professor was a mystery.)

The Prefects all agreed they would line up at their house tables, and the Head-Students would wait at the entrance arch to welcome the guests. Draco was pacing back and forth by the columns supporting the arch, ignoring the curious glances of the others. He wore black tails with a silver waistcoat, a white oxford shirt and a white bow tie. A silver handkerchief was expertly folded in the outer breast pocket, silver cufflinks winked from his wrists. The suit was topped with an elegant black robe with a glistening charcoal lining. He barely noticed the admiring winks of the females around him – not even the overt flirting of two of the 'The Jolly Witches' band. All he wanted was to finally see his little Gryffindor, Hermione. _WHAT_ had she done to him to drive all others from his mind?

He became aware that the decibel level around him had dropped suddenly. Draco looked toward Prefects, realizing that they all were staring at him. What? Was his fly down or… Wait, they weren't looking at him. Slowly he turned – and froze in the movement.

There, on the marble staircase, was the revelation of a goddess. Or an angel who had touched down from the heavens – an angel with the face ... of his lover.

Not even noticing that his mouth had dropped open, he only could stare at the exquisite beauty floating down the stair. Behind her, another delightful vision with simmering red hair approached the Great Hall.

"Cor! A crackin' looker!" a sixth-year Ravenclaw finally broke the silence; his hushed voice clear in the crowded hall.

Hermione, who usually paid scant attention to her appearance, was acutely conscious of the attention she was attracting, and blushed prettily, but her eyes never left the tall figure with the platinum blond hair, who bore the most astonished expression. Then, when the Ravenclaw voiced what all were thinking, Draco shook himself, closed his mouth, and moved toward her – helpless, as if drawn by a magnet.

Ginny, who had an excellent view of this notable moment, smiled happily, whispering into her friend's ear: "It was a good plan. You would have had him on his knees!" She was remembering Hermione's purpose for buying the dress.

Draco stood before the two; good breeding demanded that he greet both, but he only had eyes for Hermione, who smiled so glowingly at him that for a moment he forgot to breathe. Then bowing, he took her hand and placed a soft kiss on it, looking up adoringly at her. "Miss, it would be a great pleasure if you would grant me the first dance and every one after that." His voice was hushed, and his eyes shone with adulation.

Hermione curtseyed deeply, gracefully. "It would be my pleasure," she replied, feeling the warmth of her fingers in his. She wore the matching robe over her dress, one corner thrown over her bare shoulder, and she felt the cool air. But fire spread through her when she saw the admiration and subdued desire in the stormy grey beholding her. Draco heard someone clear his throat, and, most unwillingly, Draco looked behind him at … nothing. Again the voice which said, "Down here, Mr. Malfoy!"

Flitwick smiled as he saw how slowly the usually clever Head-Boy was reacting, before he turned his attention back to the Gryffindor witches, taking in their appearance. "Ladies, I am most pleased to bid such beautiful students welcome. Merlin's beard, if you weren't my students, and I were twenty years younger…" He winked at them, showing a sense of humour he never revealed in class.

Hermione and Ginny blushed. Draco practically growled under his breath, "There is still the matter of height to consider – and that the two ladies are already spoken for!"

The miniature professor raised a brow. "Is that so? Regrettable!" Pointing towards the Great Hall, he grew serious again. "Even though watching these two would be far more interesting than your duties, I must insist that you take one last review all the preparations, Mr. Malfoy. And you, Miss Granger, could possibly-"

"Of course, Professor," she interjected, knowing what was coming, "that's where I was heading. Excuse me, Ginny." Slipping her hand in the crook of Draco's arm she accompanied him into the Great Hall

Draco chuckled softly.

"Clever, Kitten. I couldn't have done it better, you know." Then their eyes met again. "You're breathtaking, Hermione. I will have to keep rein on myself all evening." He smirked as new pink crept into her cheeks. "And woe betide anyone who thinks he can steal you away. I'll hex him into the next century!"

She replied gently: "You do know that we both are obligated to dance with Hogwarts' guests and certainly several professors?"

She heard a faint grumbling. "If I must, _they_ are allowed," he mumbled after a moment.

"And Harry?"

He rolled his eyes. "That brother you never had, isn't he? Then I give him permission as well."

She smirked as they crossed the threshold into the Great Hall. "See, you only have to share me with my 'brother'. I, on the other hand, have to share you with the most famous witch of this land." As she caught his confused gaze, she grinned: "You, as Head-Boy, have to ask Professor McGonagall for a dance."

Draco paused midstep, staring at her, then he groaned, remembering. "Oh lucky me!"

Hermione faked a pout. "See? Now I really _shall_ be jealous." The way he turned around to her in bafflement made her laugh. Without considering the gossips, she stretched upward and gave him a light kiss on the cheek, wiping her lip gloss away instantly. "We both will survive this night, won't we?"

He grinned at her, mirth again in his eyes. "Count on it, little lioness. I have something planned for us afterwards." He winked at her again – witnessed by two dozen Prefects and a scrutinizing Flitwick, observing the arch enemies within Hogwarts, who were opponents no more …

TBC…

_Well, what do you think? Edis and Abdel are knowing now, who the second werewolf is, but can't track him down (in the moment). And how do you like the dress? To be truthful, I saw a ball-robe like this for real, fell more or less in love with it and changed it with mistletoes instead of spring-flowers (laugh, every author needs a suggestions here and there._

_The next chapter will be filled with the Christmas-ball and – of course – with the plan of our friends to learn something more about the mysterious guests Shacklebolt will bring with him. Therefore: Harry is on a mission again (and is going to proof like this that he will be an excellent auror one day – laugh)._

_I would be very, very happy to receive some more reviews,_

_Have a nice week,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	43. The Christmas Party

_Hi, my dear Readers,_

_It's Sunday and promptly we present you the next chapter. I don't know if it is sunny or more rainy, where you are in the moment, but nevertheless I do think you will need a little bit fantasy to get the Christmas-feeling at this time of the year (laugh). The big Yule-ball is celebrated at Hogwarts now and I do hope you will enjoy it._

_Thank you so much for the last reviews,_

_Have fun,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 42 – The Christmas Party**

As Harry descended the staircase with Ron, hundreds of voices were already echoing through the Entrance Hall. Several of the castle's ghosts also decorated the air with their silver shimmer, ghost riders on whinnying horses raced behind them along a corridor. Edis and Luna closed in behind Harry and Ron. The young Egyptian wore a white tunic over white bloomers, both beautifully embroidered and set with small stones which looked like heirlooms. A broad sash accentuated his still-slim waist and seemed to be made of woven gold but was, as he admitted with a grin, a clever imitation. Luna wore a long light blue gown that matched her enormous eyes, and a fitted robe hung from her narrow shoulders. Her pale hair, curled and shimmering, fell loose over her back, and her farwaway look was in place as she descended the stairs beside dark Edis. The two of them were a study in contrasts and complements.

Neriman, between Wilhelmina and Angela, a fifth-year Gryffindor, smiled at Harry and Ron, showing white teeth against her espresso complexion. The two visitors, while now familiar to all of them, still bore a foreign aura that attracted the attention of everyone around them. Only Luna, at Edis' side, behaved in her usual oblivious fashion, as if accompanying the ancient king and queen were an everyday occurrence to her.

"Crikey, what did they do to the hall?" Ron wondered, his eyes wide. The Entrance Hall shimmered in silver and gold. Thick carpets silenced their footsteps. The arch into the Great Hall revealed a dream of fantastic ice shapes, enchanted snow and stars. The Jolly Witches were playing a Christmas song by Kenneth the Cheerful, a wizard who lived in the last century and loved Christmas so much that he wrote dozens of songs about it, even during the summer (which nearly drove his neighbours crazy).

"'Broomsticks in the Snow'!" Ron called delighted, recognizing the melody. "One of my favourites!"

"A nice sentiment, as long as you're not look for the Golden Snitch!" Harry joked, happy to see his friend in a cheerful mood.

"Why is there such a crowd in front of the Great Hall? Both doors are wide open," Justin remarked, feeling for the messenger coin in his pocket.

"Maybe someone dropped a stink bomb," Harry sighed, craning his neck to see, but his nose told him this was not so.

"I hope there aren't a lot of speeches, and the banquet starts soon. I'm starving," Ron commented and Justin rolled his eyes.

"After what we've eaten already? When are you not starving?"

Harry chuckled. "He's got a point, Ron!" Ron just barely remembered the occasion in time not to stick his tongue out at his best friend. After all, they were adults now!

"Oh my stars, they are glorious together!" The clear voice of a fifth-year girl somewhere in front of them gave them a hint about what was holding up the crowd.

"Oh, that dress … I wish I could wear it, but with my figure…"

Harry frowned. The Great Hall was magnificent, but all the students packing the entrance weren't looking at the hall, but to the right. And then Ron paused, his mouth agape. Now Harry, more than curious, rose onto his toes – and gasped. "Sweet Lord, is that … _Hermione_?"

Edis, who closed in behind them, smirked. "Yes. And Draco Malfoy. By Horus, look at them. What a couple!"

"'_Couple_'?" Ron squeaked, reminiscent of the time his voice was changing.

Edis, realizing his _faux pas_, added, "Well, Head-Couple. Is that not what you would call them in your language?"

Harry nearly whistled as he finally got a good look at Hermione and Malfoy. The two Head-Students stood at the entrance to welcome the others, answering their questions about the agenda for the evening, and exchanging jokes and greetings with them. And Harry had a brief vision of the two of them years later, hosting balls and welcoming guests. Stealing a quick glance at Ron, he noted the shock, admiration and jealously on his face, and cleared his throat. "I am certain that Hogwarts had never a better Head-Girl. And you have to admit that Malfoy cuts a good figure."

"Yeah, too good," Ron grumbled, and only when Harry elbowed him did he plaster a smile on his face and moved toward the two Head-Students. Harry smiled at them, too, but his was genuine. "Mione, you've outdone yourself."

Hermione grinned happily. "Thanks, Harry, you look nice, too." With warmth in her eyes, she took in his dark suit and velvet-trimmed robe. Even his hair had been forced into place, and she wondered briefly what spell he had used to tame it. Then she turned to Ron, at his side, and she stiffened, her smile slipping a little. "Ron!" she greeted politely, while Draco, standing proud and elegant beside her, nodded at the two.

"Potter, Weasley, welcome."

"Thanks, Malfoy," Harry replied easily. "Not too tired to play host?"

Draco shook his head, smirking. "Nope, takes more than a little decorating to tire me out." He deliberately avoided looking at Hermione, but still there was something that Harry caught between the lines. Not daring to voice anything that could blow up something between Hermione, Ron and the Head-Boy, he simply grinned at the tall Slytherin and moved on, pulling Ron with him.

Together they finally entered the Great Hall, and looked around. They found themselves in a dream of everlasting winter and Christmas. The enchanted ceiling twinkled with hundreds of stars, the candles smelled of myrrh and incense, and the four house tables were decorated with fir, gold and silver – all the same, without the house colours, for at Christmas they were all one. The magnificent main Christmas tree shimmered, a wonder to behold. At the teachers' table, extended for the guests of honour, the entire staff of Hogwarts was already present, every one clad in their favourite Christmas colours. Even Hagrid had tamed his wild beard and wore his brown suit with the yellow tie that Harry had seen at the Yule ball in his fourth year.

McGonagall reigned from the centre, wearing an elegant green dress of velvet, a dark red robe and a tall black pointed hat. The bun in her hair was encrusted with jewels, and a heavy gold chain hung at her chest. Her eyes met Harry's, and she gave him one of her rare smiles, nodding affectionately at him. Harry, the complete gentleman, bowed towards her, feeling her smile widen.

Ron had missed the interlude; his thoughts were outside in the Entrance Hall. "Did you see how he put himself beside her? As if he had a right to!" he growled and Harry sighed.

"They _are_ the Head-Students, Ron, and they have obligations. And, besides, they did most of the work for this party, along with the Prefects, in addition to their usual duties, and of course all the homework we all have to do. I do think they've earned the honour of welcoming the school body and represent Hogwarts." He elbowed his friend. "Which is what they're doing. Give it a rest, Ron."

Grumbling, Ron closed his mouth. A moment later his jaw dropped again. "Merlin's beard! _Ginny_!"

Harry's head spun, and his reaction was very similar to Malfoy's when he saw Hermione in her dress for the first time. Wide eyed, stunned, blushing, the young hero could only stare at her, feeling suddenly very, very warm beneath his formal clothes.

Ginny smiled, then winked at him, standing in line with the other Prefects of her house by their table. Blowing him a kiss, she saw the smile of affection on his face, and he promptly reddened even more. Ron rolled his eyes. "Get a grip, Harry," he mumbled with a laugh. But Harry didn't hear him. All he could see and hear was the red-haired loveliness who had bewitched him completely, and he considered himself the luckiest guy in the world that she was his to cherish forever.

It was half an hour until everyone was seated, and excitement ran high. The Prefects had taken their seats, too, but were still ready to rise the moment the guests of honour arrived. Hermione and Draco had finally greeted everyone and, after McGonagall was notified by Filch that Shacklebolt and his guests would be there a little bit later, the Head-Students walked into the Great Hall, looking forward to finally sitting down. Hermione was grateful that she'd chosen comfortable shoes.

The moment they came into the dining area, McGonagall rose, ringing a crystal bell alongside the podium: "A moment of your time, ladies and gentlemen!" she called, her voice filling the hall. Of course most of the students paid no attention, and the band leader of The Jolly Witches assisted with a loud fanfare. Most of them took the hint. Minerva took a deep breath, smiling at the band. "Thank you, Miss Avord. Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, please come forward."

Draco, who was already half the way to the Slytherin table, returned to Hermione, offering her his arm, and they proceeded to the smiling headmistress. Her gaze had softened again, remembering the mousy bookworm with the buckteeth and the frizzy mane. She had transformed into an eyecatching beauty, wearing a dress that seemed to come straight from a fantasy. And also the young wizard at Hermione's side, once a spoiled, cruel little boy who bullied everyone he could, behaving heartlessly, malice written in his pointed features – now a handsome young man, whose expression had softened as his acts had; showing care and compassion towards others, struggling to find his way into a future where he fought against darkness, and fear instead of with it. And when she saw how naturally the two stood together in front of her, both glowing with that inner light that came straight from their healing souls, she knew that Albus Dumbledore's portrait had given her good advice.

It had proven beneficial to make the young Malfoy the Head-Boy, giving him a second and last chance. And her doubts at the beginning of the year that it couldn't be wise to put those two arch opponents together, had been dispelled the moment she found them locked in a passionate embrace. She had hoped that the warm and forgiving nature of Hermione would work its wonders once again, helping the shattered young man to regain strength and hope, and her wishes had been fulfilled. The Slytherin was more at peace as she had ever seen him, and the 'Golden Girl of Gryffindor' seemed to have found the solid rock in her upturned world on which she could rely. Both had still a long way to go, but they were healing – with each other – and McGonagall thanked the higher beings for it.

Allowing a warm smile into her eyes, she finally heard the silence around the hall. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Christmas party our Prefects and Head-Students have arranged for you. I do think you owe them a hearty thank-you for the incredible work they all did!"

Cheers, knocks on the table, whistles and loud applause resounded around them, as the Prefects rose and bowed. Hermione and Draco had turned, both feeling proud of the results of their hard work and effort she they put into getting this celebration perfect.

McGonagall waited for the noise to dim, and continued: "As you have surely noticed, our guests of honour will arrive later, so I don't think they'll mind if we start the banquet without them." New cheers broke loose. _Merlin, those children!_ Then she added above the noise, "Afterward, the dance will begin, featuring our Head-Students, and I remind the first and second years that they must return to their houses by 11 o'clock at the latest. And now, enjoy the party!"

Ooohs and Ahhhs erupted across the hall as the banquet dishes suddenly filled the tables – sausages, steaks, pies, puddings, steamed and buttered vegetables, turkeys, hams, custards, roast chestnuts, and so many more. The Headmistress looked upon her Head-Students. "I wasn't sure this would work, but I seem to have been proven wrong. Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, please have a seat!" She pointed towards two empty places at the teachers' table and chuckled, seeing the surprise on both faces. "You have earned the right to sit with us this evening, so please join us. I am certain, Miss Granger's feet are telling her to sit down soon."

Hermione blushed. Yes, her shoes were comfortable, but new. Almost not believing that she and her partner had been invited to sit at the teachers' table, she followed him as he led her to the two empty seats. Blushing, she realized that he held the chair for her and that the male professors rose before she sat down. Looking up, she met Draco's nod, then sat down beside Hagrid, who beamed at them. Somewhat embarrassed, Hermione chanced a glance over to the Gryffindor table and saw Harry and Ginny grinning broadly at her, while Ron … well, Ron, of course, wore a funereal expression. Deciding that she would ignore this, she took in the delicious food that had appeared on the tables, and soon she found herself chatting with Professor Sprout, Hagrid or Draco, while the two bands played appropriate background music.

The banquet lasted for nearly two hours, and Hermione found herself too full to even touch the tempting chocolate dessert. She watched Malfoy enviously as he filled his own plate with it and attacked it with a spoon. Shaking her head she bent towards him, lowering her voice. "Don't you think that you've eaten enough already?"

He saw the envy in her eyes as she glared at his pudding. She'd eaten a lot, for Hermione, and he knew how much she loved chocolate, but honestly couldn't eat another bite. "I need my energy for things to come," he whispered back.

She met his smouldering gaze with one of her own, but before either could say anything else, a silver Patronus in form of a lynx flew into the Great Hall, drawing silence after it. The lynx sat down gracefully before the table in front of the Headmistress, addressing her in the loud, deep, slow voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Professor, we will be arriving presently." Then the white apparition melted away.

The Headmistress rose. "Students, our guests of honour will be here any moment, so please rise. I expect you to be on your best behaviour!" She left the table, followed by Horace Slughorn – who crooked his finger at Draco and Hermione – and Akay Abdelghani, whose face glowed with his happy anticipation. Hermione gathered her skirt and Draco held her chair for her. Offering his arm, they followed the three professors. The students were murmuring again, dozens following them with their eyes in curiosity.

Instead of waiting at the door, the professors went to the bottom of the staircase. The students wondered, _Wouldn't Shacklebolt and his companions come through the main entrance?_

The answer came momentarily, as the minister's voice was heard in conversation from the corridor above them. "They must have used the floo network," Hermione whispered and Draco nodded.

"Yes. It's still the safest way to travel with those reprobates roaming the countryside," he said, pressing his lips shut. "I really hope Trees isn't one of the two Aurors with him." He felt her eyes on him and added, "I can't stand that guy."

"I understand," Hermione mumbled, remembering how that Auror not only questioned, but harassed her partner.

"I swear, if he tries to pin me on something," Draco added, breathing deeply. He felt his little witch's hand squeezing the crook of his arm.

"I'm here for you. Mr. Trees will get to know me from a side he never imagined!"

He glanced down at her, seeing the dark look she was shooting up the stairs, and smirked. "And this from Miss Goody-Two-Shoes of Gryffindor?" he teased her, feeling his mood lightening.

"No, I gave her the evening off," Hermione grinned up into his stormy eyes, suddenly wishing the feast was over. How had this Slytherin enchanted her so that she preferred HIM to a Christmas party? '_He is about to turn you in an insatiable minx, Hermione Jean Granger, but – dammit – it feels so good when he kisses you and takes you to the stars-'_

"Hermione, they're here."

Draco's mumble pulled her out of her very private thoughts. She pinked slightly when she realized that Shacklebolt was, indeed, present and greeting McGonagall. Beside him stood two strange gentlemen, both clad in expensive robes, but as dissimilar as it could be.

The one next to Shacklebolt seemed to be middle-aged, reaching only to their Minister's shoulder. He wore an enormous salt-and-pepper moustache that made Slughorn's look small. He might have been bald beneath his gold/silver turban, and wore kohl around his dark eyes. And it was obvious he enjoyed the delights of the oriental kitchen, even covered by the dark blue robe decorated by the half moons and the eyes, which the two Head-Students immediately recognized at the Eye of Horus.

The third visitor, who stood on the other side of Shacklebolt, was at least two or three inches taller than their Minister of Magic, and so thin that his dark green robe seemed to float around nothing. His face was as wrinkled as a dried apple, an indication of extreme age. His long silver beard was bound with a small golden chain, vividly reminiscent of Dumbledore's style. But this man wore a green fez, and his skin was dark olive. The green robe was embroidered with gold and silver stars in a pattern Hermione almost found familiar, and his grey hair fell loose upon his shoulders.

"Study in contrasts!" Draco whispered.

Hermione nearly giggled. "Like Pat and Patachon."

"Who?"

She was nearly laughing now. "Two Muggle film comedians. They were famous about eighty years ago. One of them was tall and thin, the other was short and fat. They got so famous during that time that their names became a synonym for people who were opposite."

Malfoy had to smile. _'__Well, it seems the non-magical people have a sense of humour after all!'_ Then he stifled a groan. "No! Not _him_!

Hermione stiffened when she saw Hank Trees and Proudfood descending the stairs behind the two ministers and the old wizard. Clenching her teeth, she moved closer to Draco, her thumb drawing easy circles on his arm. The second Head of Aurors allowed his gaze to examine the Entrance Hall. That gaze fell on them, and his eyes narrowed as they landed on Draco. Then they again scanned the area around them. Hermione was reminded of pictures of the guards surrounding heads of state, who never rested while on duty. Trees momentarily turned his attention to McGonagall, who was welcoming the tall old wizard just that moment, then introducing Slughorn, and then – finally – Abdelghani came forward, pressing both palms together and bowing deeply. Suddenly, 'Ghani and the aged magician enjoyed a brief clasp of their hands, laughing together.

"Interesting," Malfoy said under his breath, and Hermione squeezed his arm in agreement. If they could get any new information about what was going on, it would be this evening.

McGonagall led her guests to the entrance of the Great Hall, and Shacklebolt surveyed the Head-Students at the threshold. He then beamed, his white teeth contrasting sharply with his ebony skin. "Hermione, my dear, you're are stunning!" he said, his voice kind, while he bowed over her hand. Then he offered Draco his hand. "Mr. Malfoy, nice to see you again."

The Slytherin, always aware of appearances and propriety, took the strong dark fingers in his own pale ones and bowed his head. "Minister, an honour to welcome you and your guests to Hogwarts' Christmas party."

Kingsley chuckled. "Yes, it's been some time since I attended a party within these walls. And from what I can see, you two have outdone our feasts. Merlin's beard, it's an ice palace – without the terrors of an ice-queen on your tail?" He winked at Hermione, knowing exactly where she got the idea to decorate the castle like that.

Then he turned to the two men at his side. "Behar, Aron, may I introduce Hogwarts' Head-Students to you: Miss Hermione Granger from Gryffindor and Mr. Draco Malfoy from Slytherin." Draco bowed and Hermione curtseyed. Shacklebolt smiled at them and gestured towards the shorter man. "This is Behar Abontreika, my counterpart in Egypt." The oriental minister nodded toward them, not smiling, but his eyes were twinkling. "And this is Aron al Khemet El Hadary, one of the wisest wizards of our age."

Hermione couldn't stop herself. She curtseyed again, her eyes shining as she looked more closely at the old man. They weren't identical, but he reminded her vividly of Professor Dumbledore, and she immediately felt a warm affection towards him. The dark brown eyes of the tall man met hers, and for a moment, she thought his gaze would pierce hers. Suddenly, they softened and the twinkle reappeared, and the gentle expression took over the wrinkles. He looked at her Head-partner, examining him in a way Hermione was certain he had done with her a moment ago. Then El Hadary nodded slightly toward Draco, the kindness remaining in his eyes.

"A pleasure to meet you," Abontreika said with a broad smile appearing beneath his moustache, then turned to Shacklebolt. "Of a certainty, Kingsley, you should have told me that there are such beautiful young women in Hogwarts. I would have worn my best suit."

The Minister laughed, and Hermione promptly blushed. "No need, Behar. I am certain that they all are eager to meet you."

"Please, gentlemen, follow me," McGonagall interrupted, saving Hermione from further embarrassment. "We've already started the banquet, but-"

"Minerva, please, we are far too late and your students were hungry. I would have been appalled to find a hall full of half-starved students glaring at me when I arrived," Kingsley smiled at her, then offered her his arm and walked with her into the Great Hall. They were followed by the Behar Abontreika, with Abdelghani behind him along with El Harary und Slughorn.

Trees and Proudfood gestured for the Senior students to go ahead of them. The older Auror shook his head. "By Goderic's sword, Miss Granger, you are a feast for the eyes. No offence, Mr. Malfoy."

The corner of Draco's mouth lifted. "It would sound a tad awkward, Sir, if you had included _me _in your compliment."

Proudfood paused and began to laugh. "A point for you, m'boy." He watched the two young people attending their headmistress. He looked over at Trees, whose expressionless face was no mask to the older man. He sighed. "For pity's sake, Hank, let it go!"

The younger Auror raised a brow, his piercing eyes following the Head-Boy. "I don't trust that little snake. He's just like-"

Proudfood faced him completely now. "Hank, the boy is Lucius' _son_, not-"

"You said it yourself: his son. He is a _Malfoy_. I need to know nothing else." His voice dripped icicles.

The other wizard shook his head. "Let go of the past, Hank. You are only making trouble for yourself and others. The boy may not be the most innocent wizard of his age, but the war claimed different kinds of victims – not only the ones who died, but also those who bear the scars of evil for the rest of their lives. The boy has been through much. He's changed. He is shaking off the shackles of the dark influences he was forced to endure from birth, and is finding his own way in this still uneasy world. Take my advice and leave him alone!" With those words, he walked past Trees, smiling when he saw that the group had stopped at the Gryffindor table. There, Shacklebolt introduced his two guests to Harry Potter, Ronald and Ginevra Weasley. And seeing the way the red-haired beauty looked at the young hero, he ascertained that they had to be a couple. He sighed inwardly. _'__Youth… what would I give to be so young again…'_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The three guests gave a short speech, expressed their gratitude for being invited, handed out kudos for the decorations, and Shacklebolt added a few pithy and humorous remarks, restoring the cheerful mood among the students. Quite aware that he was holding up the party, he signalled to McGonagall that he wouldn't mind if the students went on with the celebration and that he and the others would eat later. The headmistress was able to announce to the students that the party was finally begun.

Cheers erupted, and after the students rose, two dozen house elves appeared, led by Kreacher. Using their own magic they snapped their fingers and the tables were cleared. Another snap, and the tables vanished. A third, and the benches were lining the walls. A few of the tables remained at the side of the room for refreshments. If one had taken the time to explore the castle as certain others had, they would know that the tables had been transported into the cellar storage area with the rest of the benches. The food and crockery had descended to the tables parallel to them in the kitchens below. In only a few moments, the room had been completely transformed. Kreacher bowed deeply and, on his signal, with a simultaneous 'crack,' the helpful little house elves disappeared.

The 'Swinging Harpies' took that as their cue for another fanfare, and enchanted the shimmering ice floor with a non-slipping spell. Then the band leader – a cocky young witch with red, blond and black hair – raised her voice: "Minister Shacklebolt, Minster Abontreika, Master El Hadary, Professor McGonagall, staff of Hogwarts, dear students! Welcome to this year's Christmas ball. It's tradition that the Head-Students open the festivities, so please, show us if Hogwarts can teach more than books and spells!"

Dozens of amused gazes were turned to the Head-Students. The younger ones still hadn't heard about their abilities, expecting a fumbling couple. Draco smirked at Hermione, and she knew he was telling her, 'Just let them see!'

The Golden Girl of Gryffindor grinned back, as he took her robe from her shoulders and handed it and his own to Patrick, who stood next to them. Her dress now revealed to everyone, she followed Draco into the centre of the Hall. She felt the hundreds of eyes on her and for a moment she was nervous. Then she looked up into the silver grey eyes of her companion, who looked confidently at her, and all the feathers in her stomach lined up and lay down. _Together, they would make it. Together, they could do anything!_

She glided to the centre of the room, and the Slytherin-Prince bowed to her. She curtseyed and as the music began, a waltz, and his hand slid around her slender waist. Her fingers slipped into his other hand, while the beaded bag hung from the silken cord at her wrist, he led her into the first motions of the dance, and she found herself floating over the floor with an ease and elegance that made even the musicians sit up and take notice. And then Hermione lost all hesitation, and the music swept her away. Her body was filled with the music, her skin was alive where he touched her, his wonderful scent surrounding her. Ginny's description of Cinderella popped into her mind, and right now, she felt like a princess, dancing at a ball in an enchanted castle in the arms of her Prince Charming, who was about to steal her heart.

Shacklebolt watched the two young people with interest, surprised at how well they moved together – the sweet, graceful girl; the boy-man with the efficient moves of a predator and the pride of a noble. And then he saw the glow in their eyes when they looked at each other, their expressions warm, almost dreamy. Another smile tugged at his mouth. _'__If there isn't something going on between the two I will drown it in syrup and eat my broomstick!'_

McGonagall sighed in relief as she saw the couple wafting over the dance floor. So far, everything was working out. Then Kingsley stepped in front of her, bowing deeply. "Professor, if I may?" He offered her is arm, and, blushing the tiniest bit, the headmistress allowed him to lead her to the dance floor, signalling everyone that the floor was now open for all.

Harry, standing with the other students and slightly apart, watched Abdelghani explaining something to the Egyptian Minister and the old wizard. Then he set his eyes back on Hermione and Draco. They were even more fluid than during their demonstration at practice. He almost allowed himself to believe what was happening to the two. He had a pretty good idea. The evidence spoke for itself. Still, he didn't _want_ to believe it. He couldn't believe that Hermione was falling for the boy who tormented them all for six years. But their eyes never left each other. _'__Hermione has confessed that she and Malfoy are growing closer. Put it all together and it tells me everything.'_

He heard Ginny clearing her throat beside him, and he realized he had fallen amiss. Embarrassed, he faced her and smiled: "May I have this dance, Miss Weasley?"

"As you wish, Mr. Potter," she answered, laughing gently; deliberately ignoring her brother, who stood boiling with jealously next to them, staring holes through Malfoy. Harry, knowing exactly what his best mate was feeling, seeing the poetry in motion created by the Head-Students, decided to spare himself that glance at him, and led Ginny to floor with a flourish.

Soon the floor in the Great Hall was crowded, and the pairs swept one another about in a fair semblance of the waltz. The younger ones joked about the older students, giggling and pointing, ignoring the fact that that soon they would have to do the same, only a year or two away.

The music became a tango, and Kingsley yielded McGonagall to Behar Abontreika. Several of the students giggled when they saw the pair dancing. Their Headmistress, taller than her guest, emphasized that difference with her formal tall pointed hat. Abontreika looked even shorter than he was.

Minerva was pleasantly surprised to find how accomplished the oriental minister was in the European dances. Near them, Edis Shawky and Luna Lovegood were doing the tango, and the headmistress saw also Neriman Sahid and Abdel Fathalla doing their best to mirror the movements of their school mates, having more fun than success at it. Hermione Granger was still dancing with her Head-partner.

Abontreika watched them for a moment. "A Gryffindor and a Slytherin. Are they not house rivals?"

McGonagall chuckled. "Yes, since the school was founded a thousand years ago."

The stout Egyptian smiled. "Well, those two seemed to have put it behind them."

McGonagall laughed. "Yes, they have even put their personal history behind them – finally!" He looked at her with a raised brow, so she added, "These two were at each other's throats for over six years."

Behar grinned, his teeth glowing in his dark face. "Opponents?"

"The worst, besides Mr. Malfoy and his never-ending rivalry with Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley."

Looking over again at the Head-Students, seeing the tall young man bend down and whisper something to the beautiful witch, who smiled up at him, he pursed his lips in amusement. "They seem to have turned a corner."

McGonagall sighed. "Yes. I'm sure there will be more surprises before the end of the school year!"

The tango ended. Hermione had manoeuvred Draco into a dramatic dip, his head nearly touching the floor. They both laughed when he stood again. It was time for them to change partners. Minerva watched as the two Head-students approached her and Abontreika. The young Malfoy clicked his heels before her and bowed. "May I have the honour of the next dance?"

Her eyes twinkled in amusement. "My pleasure, Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Abontreika, excuse us, please."

"Of course, Madame." He looked at Hermione, bowing at her. "Miss Granger?" He offered her his arm, and knowing there was no escape, she accepted the invitation with a kind smile and followed him to the dance floor – already missing Draco. This was her duty. It would not be long and they could only enjoy the evening – until the ministers and McGonagall certainly retreated to a hidden meeting.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The classical standards played for nearly an hour in the Great Hall. In the Entrance Hall the Jolly Witches had begun to perform popular music, and attracted increasing numbers of students.

McGonagall finally led her guests to the decorated tables on the dais, where the two ministers, the old wizard and the two Aurors enjoyed their Christmas dinner, chatting with members of the staff.

Harry saw them walking to the table. He and the others continually glanced in their headmistress' direction, ready to act the moment the guests were done eating. Ron was dancing with a Ravenclaw, and Harry was doing a foxtrot with Hermione when they heard the chairs scraping. McGonagall was conversing with Shacklebolt, Hagrid and Abontreika, and their faces looked … serious.

"I think it's time," Hermione whispered.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, true that." He then grinned, murmuring: "At least I don't have to look for my cloak."

"Potter?"

The quiet voice behind Harry made him turn, and Malfoy raised his voice. "May I cut in?"

Exchanging a significant glance, Harry stepped back, smiling politely. "Of course. Mione, may I take your handbag to Ginny?"

"Thanks, Harry, you're the best," she smiled at him and gave him the little beaded bag, glad that their plan seemed to be working without a hitch.

"It's what I do, Mione!" he nodded with a wink, and left the dance floor. Ginny and Ron were following him, together with Justin and Romina, a Ravenclaw girl that had joined the new D.A.

"Tired already, Harry?" Justin joked

Harry laughed, "No, but you would not believe what Hermione just told me. Come here …" The four circled him as he told them one of the stories Hermione related during their journeys the last year – a perfect diversion. Anyone who saw them would only see friends standing together, talking. Quickly he opened Hermione's handbag, grabbed the first thing he put his hand on and pulled out … lip gloss and powder. He handed these to Ron, and tried again, shoving his arm nearly all the way in before his fingers touched the silky material he was looking for. He nodded to Ginny, who looked over her shoulder and nodded at Hermione and Malfoy.

A moment later the Head-Girl stumbled, nearly falling. Draco caught her, his voice loud enough to attract the attention of everyone around them. "Granger, are you all right? Heavens, remember, you are dancing on ice!"

"You do know that you used a Muggle term just now," she retorted dryly, pretending to have injured herself. "Ow, I think I sprained my ankle." Since no one was looking their way, Harry threw the cloak over himself and slipped away. He headed toward the teachers' table, while McGonagall surveyed the scene Hermione was causing.

"Miss Granger, will you be all right?" she called.

Draco raised his voice. "She twisted her ankle, Professor, nothing serious."

Lifting a brow, the Headmistress addressed Madame Pomfrey, who was already rising. "Poppy, if you would please?"

"Of course, Headmistress!" Quickly she left the table and walked towards the dance floor, where just that moment Draco was lifting her into his arms, carrying her to one of the few benches at the wall, gently placing her there.

"I hope it's nothing serious," Abdelghani said

McGonagall replied, "I don't think so. Madame Pomfrey is an excellent healer and a twisted ankle can be repaired in a trice." She glanced at the others. "Kingsley, Hagrid, Proudfood, Hank, please follow me." Then she turned to the guests. "Excuse us for a moment, ladies and gentlemen. I shall return shortly." They nodded, and continued talking with Slughorn and Aurora Sinistra, the Astrology professor.

Harry had already reached them and caught her last words. He was surprised that Hagrid and the two Aurors would take part in this meeting, but not the newcomers. Watching Filch fingering his enormous key ring, walking towards the small door at the right, he took a deep breath. He would have information soon enough. His vision was clear, marred only by the thin film of the ancient invisibility cloak. This he was accustomed to, as he followed McGonagall and the others as silently as possible, praying he wouldn't be discovered. He'd worn soft-soled shoes for this purpose.

They went through the small door and down a short flight of steps, toward a double door made of iron, torchlight illuminating the space around them. "I thought it better to have our meeting down here, Kingsley. I mean no offence, but I already ran the stairs from the Headmaster's Office to the ground level eighteen times today. We'll also return to the feast sooner."

Shacklebolt nodded. "I understand, Minerva. Your youthful attitude is still quite amazing."

She frowned. "I may not be so young anymore, Kingsley, but I am certainly not _that_ old," she replied shortly and earned a chuckle from the minister.

They descended further, and Harry realized which room they would use – the same that the champions of the Triwizard Tournament had been brought to after selection by the Goblet of Fire. He remembered his bewilderment and something bordering on terror as he followed the others down this corridor. He waited until the doors were opened and McGonagall, Shacklebolt and the two Aurors continued through them, followed by the bulk of Hagrid. Harry slipped through the closing doors at the last second, almost getting his foot caught, then he heard Filch head back upstairs, grumbling endlessly beneath his breath.

Stealing the rest of the way behind the others, pressing himself along the wall, Harry looked about the room. Like the last time, a large fire warmed them in the open fireplace, several valuable artefacts were safely locked beneath glass domes on tables. But something was new. There, across the room, a large golden frame hung with a painting showing a comfortable wing chair with a high back. And there sat a very familiar person, wearing a star-spangled robe and a tall cap on long grey hair. Blue eyes sparkled above the half-moon shaped spectacles.

And those eyes went straight to Harry's …

TBC…

_Ah… A cliffy…_

_Yes, I know, it's mean (laugh) and I'm certain that you're all curious now, if Harry gets caught or what he will learn eventually by listening to the conversation._

_I hope you liked the chapter (yeah, I know, Christmas in summer…) and I would be very, very happy, if I would get some more reviews._

_Have a nice Sunday and week,_

_Love,_

_Lywhn_


	44. New Clues

_Hallo, my dear Readers!_

_Thank you so much for the nice reviews an all the encouragements and compliments you gave me. I'm so happy that I'm able to catch several of you the way I obviously do._

_In the new chapter Harry will learn a lot more about the whole problem and will remember again how incredible Dumbledore was/is._

_I do hope you're going to like it._

_Enjoy,_

_Have a nice Sunday_

_Yours Lywhn _

**Chapter 43 – New Clues**

Harry's breathing stopped as the blue eyes in the portrait seemed to see him right through his cloak. He had to consciously remind himself to breathe again. _'__Dumbledore couldn't know that I am here. The ancient material of the cloak wouldn't allow anyone – powerful or not – to see through it. But he knew Ron and I were in Hagrid's house that day when we two were hiding there, I'm sure of it!'_ The expression on his mentor's face forcefully reminded him of that significant glance, the day Hagrid was arrested his second year. Then Dumbledore rose from the wing chair and turned his glance away to the newcomer. His voice was calm and kind. "Ah, Kingsley, how nice to see you again. Hank, Proudfood, still on the hunt, I see. Hagrid, I hope everything is going well with your classes. Minerva, my dear friend, you look delightful this evening!"

McGonagall gave him a dry look that said 'old charmer', and Hagrid beamed. "Perfesser Dumbledore, Sir, good t' see ya again."

Shacklebolt laughed aloud. "And I was wondering why your image was missing from the Headmaster's Office, Albus. I thought you were perhaps enjoying the feast in another frame."

Dumbledore smiled at the old friend. "Oh, I will Kingsley, I will – later. There are those two nice ladies who invited me, near the classrooms, and I have to admit that I always had my eye on them. They-"

"_Albus_!" McGonagall interrupted, but the old wizard smiled apologetically, then grew serious. "Kingsley, any news?"

The former Auror opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Trees cut in. "Sorry, Professor, but is this room completely secure?"

Looking at him loftily, McGonagall lifted one brow, her cold expression daring him to continue. "Of course, Mr. Trees. You're forgetting with whom you're dealing."

Raising both hands in an appeasing manner, the blond Auror smiled and stepped back. Shacklebolt cleared his throat. "I was able to reassure the Muggle Prime Minister after the last robbery at the British Museum. It seems only artefacts from a particular period have been targeted – exactly as in the other European museums. I discussed it with Behar, and he said that perhaps a group of criminals was responsible, perhaps Egyptians, but they had no proof."

"No proof?" Dumbledore's asked. "Something very strange is happening. I do think that Behar knows more about it, but has kept silent. And I believe that our dead centaur in the Forbidden Forest is part of it, too." His sharp eyes darted back and forth between the two Aurors. "Did you find out which killing curse was used on the seer?"

Beneath his cloak Harry's eyes widened. A centaur had been killed in the Forbidden Forest? So, _that_ was the reason for Hagrid's frantic entrance to the Great Hall the Monday after the raid on Hogsmeade, and the appearance of the Aurors the day after. But who had killed the centaur? One of the Death Eaters who had been seen in the woods? Who else would do something like that!

Hank Trees shifted his feet, and Proudfood rolled his eyes. "Impossible to know for certain. We would have to examine the corpse, and had we tried, the whole herd would have attacked us."

McGonagall pursed her lips. "Sedat, the victim, was one of the younger centaurs, but a very gifted seer – a great loss for his community, and ours. It seems that he witnessed something in the Forbidden Forest, and for that, he had to die. And whatever he saw would surely provide a piece of this puzzle we must solve."

"Yes, Professor, we've been over this," Hank cut in. "But I still don't see the connection between the raids of the museums and the murder of a centaur. He was certainly killed by Death Eaters, after all, and they would never have anything to do with burgling Muggle houses to steal Muggle treasures."

"You're mistaken, Mr. Trees!" Minerva said sternly. "Lestrange and some if his associates tried to break into a Muggle museum in Yorkshire, which-"

"A _local_ Muggle museum, Professor," Trees interrupted. "Not a large one with Egyptian artefacts. Those two crimes are completely unrelated."

Dumbledore sighed. "There is a connection, Hank. We have to keep our minds open for the impossibilities, when the possibilities don't seem to provide answers."

"You're not only referring to the robbery in Yorkshire, but also what the centaur told Minerva and Hagrid here, when he told them about the murder?" Kingsley deftly changed the topic, crossing his arms.

"Ronan said somethin' of a ancient wind blowin' through th' land," Hagrid spoke up for the first time. "And tha' he felt it afore Sedat was killed. An' he connected it to thos' odd creatures wha' helped Harry, Hermione, Ron and th' young Malfoy in Hogsmeade."

"Have you discovered any more about that … that cat and dog you told me about?" Shacklebolt asked.

McGonagall snorted, a sound Harry never thought he'd hear from the Head of Gryffindor House. "I already told you that strange things were happening within these walls, even after the Aurors increased the wards. The portraits fall asleep when they shouldn't, only realizing that they did it when they awaken. The house elves are afraid to walk the halls at night, whispering among themselves of uncanny shadows which have the shape of half humans, half animals. Students have complained about of falling asleep at odd times, yet they awaken exhausted in the morning, even after sleeping through the whole night. Mr. Filch went into some detail about a black cat that seemed to hex his pet, Mrs. Norris, and that the beast belonged to no one in the castle." She sighed, and bowed her head.

Glued against the wall, Harry had to grin, remembering the caretaker's encounter with the four-legged spy and his pet's strange behaviour. Then he saw it: this black cat had no master or mistress! The cat and the jackal were linked to a foreign power that was attacking Britain, as the one centaur pointed out. This new thought fit the D.A.'s musings that this special cat was somehow Bastet in her animal form.

"Was it the same cat?" Shacklebolt wanted to know, and it was Hagrid who answered.

"Tha' we don't know, Minister. But it coulda been. An' whatever th' li'l creature is, it behaves like it's more than a beast – somethin' like a Kneazle."

"Perhaps it is," Kingsley said dismissively, his voice betraying his inattention to that particular detail – something Harry thought was a mistake. But he remembered that neither Shacklebolt nor McGonagall had connected the unusual events around Hogwarts with their guests or with their ancient gods. "Hank, maybe you should check the wards in and around Hogwarts again. Holidays begin the day after tomorrow," the minister continued. "You and your men should be able to access the entire school without disturbing classes or the daily routine. We have to get rid of those wraiths before letters start arriving from concerned parents."

"There is more," Minerva said, raising her voice. "Young Malfoy was attacked shortly after the wards were put into place."

"What?" This time Shacklebolt really sounded concerned. "_Attacked_? When? How?"

The two Aurors drew nearer, and McGonagall turned towards them, now also facing Harry. He saw the expression of worry; the concern for the well-being of her students plainly written on her face, and he nearly regretted that he, Malfoy, and Hermione had decided to lie to her. But she would never have believed them – least of all, their suggestion that their guests could transform into ancient gods.

"During a night patrol with Miss Granger," Minerva explained, hugging herself to prevent a shiver at the memory of the bruised young Slytherin standing at her table, telling her what happened to him. "They parted, like they always do, and when Mr. Malfoy didn't show up at their agreed rendezvous, she searched for him in the area of the castle he was to check. She found him unconscious and bleeding in the dungeon, between the Slytherin and Hufflepuff dormitories."

Kingsley had paled beneath his dark skin. "Who attacked him?"

"He did not see anyone. He said he heard a noise behind him as he patrolled the corridor, and before he could turn around, something hit him and hurled him against the wall. The next thing he remembered was Miss Granger tending his head injury."

"He saw no one?" Trees frowned. "How could that happen? Draco Malfoy is no small person."

She shook her head. "It's not a mystery. It was nighttime, and he only had his illuminated wand to show him the way," she explained.

"So you're saying whoever it was could have crept up behind him," Proudfood mused.

Beginning to pace, Shacklebolt pursed his lips. "A crude prank, gone too far?" he postulated.

It was Dumbledore, who answered. "The young Malfoy had experienced trouble with two boys from his House after he defended Miss Granger against them, and later protected a first-year Hufflepuff from them during the boy's Detention. It is possible that those two were responsible for it, but I doubt it. The time of patrol was quite late, sometime around midnight, as Miss Granger reported. Also, Mr. Malfoy's own dorm in the Heads' quarters is separate from the Slytherin dormitory, they couldn't know when or where he would be on patrol."

"Perhaps he got too close to those who were playing ghost, and they wanted him out of the way," Proudfood thought aloud.

"Did you inform his parents?" Kingsley asked Minerva, and she shook her head.

"No, Draco asked me not to, and because he is of age, I respected his wish."

"He didn't want his parents to know that he was attacked?" Trees queried, his raised brow betraying his suspicions. "The Malfoys always interfere about everything that doesn't go their way. And Lucius is overprotective when it comes to his son. You would think-"

"And that is exactly why Draco wanted to keep it a secret," Dumbledore interjected, beginning to sound impatient. "After the raid of Hogsmeade, Lucius immediately came to Hogwarts to see about him. The boy knows the danger his parents are in, and he did not wish to put them at risk."

Hank snorted. "You're talking about the boy who screamed bloody murder when a Hippogriff barely scratched him _after_ he provoked the animal. Now you say it was his idea to keep it from his parents after he was brutally attacked within the school. There is something very wrong with this picture. Perhaps he is cooperating with the intruders!"

Proudfood sighed and opened his mouth to make the rebuttal. But it was Hagrid who did something that moment he never thought he would do: he went straight to the defence of the young Slytherin: "Th' boy grew up, Mr. Trees. The war changed us all! I saw wit' me own eyes how 'e fought beside Harry and 'ow much 'e suffered after 'e'd bin attacked, but bearin' it like a man. Don't get me wrong 'ere, Sir, but after Malfoy saved our Hermione from tha' werewolf an' protected the li'l 'un, I'll not speak bad about 'im ever again!"

Under the cloak, Harry blinked in surprise at Hagrid's declaration of loyalty, then smiled. He saw the perplexed expression on Trees as he stared at up at the intimidating half giant. Behind the blonde Auror, Proudfood grinned, and McGonagall and Shacklebolt hid their smiles. Harry shook his head in affection. Draco had found a way into the Hagrid's big, big heart. The fierce Keeper of the Grounds would defend any friend who was accused unfairly.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, then the former headmaster cleared his throat. "If this incident has anything to do with the strange events in and around Hogwarts, we should attempt to prevent another incident like it."

"You're right, Albus. Now, my friends, back to the centaurs," Kingsley nodded, turning to McGonagall again. "The one who talked to you after the others went away?"

"Ronan," she confirmed.

"Yes, Ronan. He told you about some details of the near future and Voldemort. What exactly did he say? You hinted about it in your letters."

The headmistress took a deep breath. "I didn't want to reveal any details, Kingsley. We don't know if the Death Eaters can intercept the owls. And knowing that one of them has to be responsible for Sedat's death, I was careful." She walked to one of the few chairs and sat down heavily; the worries and responsibilities visibly weighing on her. "Ronan said that Tom Riddle was only the heir of _one_ powerful wizard, but that there had been others before him. I am certain he referred to Salazar Slytherin. After all, Tom Riddle was a direct descendent. Ronan also said that one of those dark wizards found a way to become … immortal, or to return from death. And he told me the stars were again coming around in a circle and that old powers approached. He warned us – certainly overstepping his authority by informing and warning us, and that is distressing."

Shacklebolt exchanged a quick look with the two Aurors, and gave a brief nod. "You're right, Minerva. These details were too dangerous to send in a letter. I regret that I was too busy to contact you in person earlier." He took a deep breath. "I find this most disturbing. No one comes back from the dead – thank heaven. Imagine if someone could find a way to resurrect Voldemort again, or some other wizard with that kind of power and thought process."

"Do y' think tha's wha's happenin'?" Hagrid honestly sounded alarmed.

Kingsley shrugged. "I don't know. But never take the words of a centaur lightly. I learned that much attending Hogwarts all those years ago. I spoke many times with a young colt I met during my duties as a Prefect, approaching the Forbidden Forest in the process. I am sure you remember him, Minerva."

She smiled. "Oh, I do remember. It took me some time to catch you at it, before one of the older centaurs found you. They are very possessive of their territory."

"And, in the end, our Kingsley had befriended him, and I'm certain that is one reason why the centaurs joined the fight during the Battle of Hogwarts," Dumbledore added. Harry was still listening breathlessly, gobsmacked by this information.

Shacklebolt chuckled briefly, then took a deep breath, ready to move the discussion to an action point. "So, what now? Mysterious events in Hogwarts, Death Eaters in the area, the warning of a centaur concerning the end of a cycle, of a dark wizard who might be able to cheat death. What does all this tell us?"

"That the Death Eaters might have a part in whatever is coming?" McGonagall mused. "It is no coincidence that Lestrange and his fellows attack Hogsmeade, and then killed a seer of the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest a day later."

"An' what abou' th' robberies in th' museums?" Hagrid added, shoving his enormous hands in his coat pockets. "Th' robbers stole them artefacts. It seem' to be wizards who're doin' it. Is there a connection?"

Harry held his breath. Hagrid had linked it together the way the D.A. had, and he waited for the reaction of the others.

"Unlikely," Hank Trees grumbled. "What should a few random robberies have to do with the plans of the Death Eaters?"

"Ronan said tha' an ancient wind's ablowin' through this land," the half giant replied. "An' those stolen things _are_ ancient!"

Dumbledore's portrait nodded slowly. "There is insight in your words, Hagrid. The centaurs said they felt something dark and powerful nearby before Sedat was killed. It was similar to the power that saved our brave Head-Students and our unhappy young Hufflepuff – a cat and a wolf or dog. And here the cycle closes."

Proudfood walked slowly to one of the columns and lent against it, arms crossed. "Those two creatures are acting on a purpose." He looked up. "Animagis?"

Beneath his cloak, Harry nearly cheered. There, _finally,_ they had put everything together – or nearly everything. They had not yet reached the conclusion that the four guest students somehow shared their souls with old gods. This wouldn't happen tonight. McGonagall didn't know about the dolls.

Minerva rubbed her chin. "Not my students, that much is clear. I know exactly who is going to be an Animagus and who is not. And I also know what form those few students will take."

"Our guests?" Hank mused.

McGonagall looked at Shacklebolt. "I spoke with Professor Abdelghani about it after the appearance of the cat and large dog, and their even more bizarre behaviour. He assured me that none of the four is an Animagus."

"Can you believe him?" The dark eyes of the Minister of Magic looked at her pointedly.

She paused, looking inwardly. Then, sighing deeply, the headmistress shrugged. "He seems honest, but I can't look in his head, you know. _Legilimency_ is illegal. And seeing that he is the Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, he certainly is well versed in _Occlumency_. If I attempted to read him, he would know immediately that I don't believe him – something I do not want to risk right now."

Kingsley grunted an agreement.

"Why is Minister Abontreika here, Kingsley?" Albus asked the former Auror.

Shacklebolt addressed the painting. "He is travelling around Europe because of the stolen artefacts, visiting the museums. The Muggles are at their wit's end about it, and he's visiting them officially. He assumes that a gang of criminals from among our people, perhaps even from Egypt, are responsible for those raids."

Dumbledore raised a brow, watching him over the top of the spectacles. "And El Hadary? I know him from meetings in with the Councils for International Wizarding Cooperation. His specialty was the opposition to the Dark Arts. He pursued and captured many dark wizards in Africa."

Proudfood laughed aloud. "So, he is your Egyptian counterpart, Albus! You both were Headmasters of the foremost wizardry schools of your countries, and you both hunted evil wherever you encountered it."

The blue eyes on the painting twinkled again. "You might put it that way, my friend." He glanced at McGonagall. "Minerva, my dear, El Hadary will remain here for two or three weeks, is that correct?" She nodded, and he continued: "You can possibly keep an eye on him. I would like to have some time with him – for old time's sake, you might say. I am certain that he will agree to meet with a 'painting'. If he hides anything, I will discover it."

"Wha' would he hide, Perfesser?" Hagrid's voice betrayed his confusion.

Dumbledore turned to Hagrid. "An ancient 'wind' blowing over our land, stolen ancient artefacts, warnings of an 'immortal' wizard comparable to Slytherin or Riddle in their outlook, Death Eaters near Hogwarts, an Egyptian specialist who fights against the Dark as a life's goal. I do think the answer is right in front of us, we only have to puzzle it out. And El Hadary is going to help us!"

Shacklebolt finally nodded. "A good plan, Albus. Perhaps you and Minerva can gain some information from our honourable guest. And I will try to educe something from my Egyptian colleague while he's here. Whoever learns something new must contact the others immediately. The very idea that there could be another 'Dark Lord' gives me nightmares!" He rose to leave and glanced back. "Thank you for meeting with us, Albus. May I see you again before I leave Hogwarts tomorrow?"

Dumbledore's portrait smiled "I will now attend the feast in a frame by the Entrance Hall, before I retreat to my place in the office for a long nap. There will be time for us to talk. Have fun!"

Saluting the painting, Shacklebolt headed for the stairs, the two Aurors on his heels. Hagrid followed, and behind them came McGonagall, and Harry gathered himself as the headmistress passed him by – near enough to smell her herbal soap. But as he tiptoed after her, his breath caught. Filch was waiting by the open door, ready to close it after McGonagall crossed the threshold. He would never make it out the door in time! His thoughts whirled. How could he get out of here if the doors were locked again? Okay, he might call for Kreacher, but what if there were wards around the room so that even the magic of a house elf couldn't cross it?

He frantically looked about, searching for another exit, but he saw none. His eyes passed the portrait and … Dumbledore's voice called out: "Minerva? A moment, please? I have to ask you something in private."

McGonagall frowned, then gestured the others to go ahead, and returned down the few stairs to the room; Harry got out of her way in the very last moment, his heart drummed like horse hooves. "What is it, Albus?"

The departed wizard smirked at her. "Do you know from whom the Fat Lady always gets those delicious pralines?"

"_Albus_!" The Transfiguration Professor huffed – something no student would ever hear from her.

Harry saw his chance, and on silent feet he darted through the opening. He threw one last grateful glance at the portrait, from which McGonagall was turning away.

And Dumbledore's eyes were straight at him once again, one grey brow lifted. Stunned, Harry paused to stare at the painting of his dead mentor, then the portrait winked with a conspiratorial smile and left the frame.

'_He knows!'_ Harry thought, plastering himself against the wall as Hagrid closed the door. He remained still while Filch returned to lock it. _'Merlin, he KNOWS! How?'_

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Draco was sitting on the bench along the wall with Hermione, whom had been 'healed' by a puzzled Pomfrey. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, trying not to look at Hermione, which would only make him gape. The two Weasleys stood next to them and watched the dance. Ginny smirked at them, then glanced back at her brother. "You know, Harry should be back by now," she whispered. "McGonagall came out that door minutes ago. Should we go look-"

"Pssst! Hey!"

Someone hissed behind Ron and beside Draco, and they all knew the voice. Instantly Malfoy rose and offered Hermione his hand. She took it and rose, making quite a fuss, sorting out her wide skirt. Ginny offered to help her, and her brother hid a grin as the wild black hair of his best friend appeared, crouching behind the girls' skirts, pulling off the cloak. Dropping her bag, he quickly folded the material into the tiny handbag, stuffing it deep. Then he stood and handed the little bag to Hermione. "Thank you, Harry!" she responded.

Draco, enjoying the pantomime, glanced at the other, raising a brow. "So?"

Harry took a deep breath. "Not here. Let's go somewhere private."

One look at the stressed face told his friends enough. Malfoy nodded. "Right," he whispered. Hermione and I will do a quick survey to see if everything is alright. Meet us in the Potions classroom. It will be easy to get there and back to the feast."

The Boy who lived nodded, and Draco gestured to his partner toward the exit, placing one hand on the middle of her back, guiding her through the crowd. Ron stared after the retreating couple and growled. "He is becoming too comfortable with Mione. It's like they're attached at the shoulder!"

Harry had to agree, but knew better than to say it aloud. He didn't want to add oil to the flames. He took a deep breath. "All right, down to the Potions classroom. Let's collect some of the others. Ginny, do you think you can pry Luna away from Edis for a few minutes?"

A sly smirk appeared on the pretty face. "I can handle it!" Winking at him, she blended into the cheerful crowd.

Harry sighed. "I'm glad she's on _our_ side!"

"Yeah, you're telling me!" Ron agreed, tugging at his bow tie. Then he faced Harry and lowered his voice. "You all right, Harry?"

The black-haired Gryffindor shrugged. "Don't know, Ron. What I heard … well, I'll tell you together with the others, but there's more." He pressed his lips shut and took a deep breath. "Dumbledore was there."

Ron's eyes grew a large as hubcaps. "Dumbledore was – are you sure?"

Harry took him by the shoulder. "Get a grip, Ron, he was in a portrait frame. And I know that he knew I was there, even under my cloak!" He shook his head, and Ron mouthed an exclamation. "He looked straight at me when I first went in, and then he … he distracted McGonagall after their meeting was done so that I could slip out. Without his help, I might still be caught in the room down there." He grinned nervously. "When I looked back, he smiled over McGonagall's shoulder at me and winked!"

"Gosh!" the youngest Weasley-son whispered. "Creepy!"

"I know that Dumbledore had a sixth sense about us, and he always seemed to know when I was near. Remember that evening in Hagrid's shack, when Lucius Malfoy came to arrest Hagrid and Dumbledore was removed from his position?"

Ron nodded, "Yeah. We were both in the corner, under the cloak, and Dumbledore looked directly at us, and even referred to us when he was talking to Malfoy."

Harry nodded. "Hagrid knew that we were there, of course. But no one told Dumbledore that we were out after curfew. But he knew that we were there and even gave me a weapon against Riddle."

"Yeah, Hagrid helped us, too," Ron added. "'Follow the spiders…'" He shuddered, his phobia of spiders well-known to Harry. "Ugh. Could'a done without that one."

Harry smirked, then said, "This evening was the same. He knew that I was there and helped me to escape. And it wasn't even him, you know, just his portrait come to life, like the others."

Ron crossed his arms, chewing a lower lip. "Why do you think he helped? Why play along, even deceiving McGonagall?"

Shrugging, the other took his spectacles and cleaned them on the velvet of his robe's sleeve. "Maybe we have to find it out for ourselves. After all, we have a pretty fair success rate when it comes to solving riddles."

Smiling suddenly, Ron clapped him on the shoulder. "Solving 'Riddles'? Ha! Too much, Harry. So, still 'Dumbledore's man', aren't you?"

"Always!" Harry answered, vowing anew – a vow he'd made years ago deep down in his heart, and intend to keep it until his last day on Earth.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Stunned silence hung over the dark Potions classroom as Harry ended his report. The members of the D.A. looked at him, and then at each other.

"So," Hermione began, "we must be on the right track?"

"It looks that way," her friend nodded. They spoke freely, as Hermione had gone through the series of charms and spells she'd used around their camp for months, with excellent results.

"But … does that mean that another heir of Slytherin is about to replace the Dark Lord, or that there is a completely new wizard who has the same ideas?" Justin mumbled, still confused. "From _Egypt_?"

"Weren't you listening?" Hermione asked, rolling her eyes. "The centaurs warned McGonagall of an ancient power in human form that 'roams this land'. And our dear guests transform into ancient Egyptian gods. And the discussion about Tom Riddle being the _heir_ of _one_ dark wizard, but there were _others_ _before_? Others like Slytherin, he meant. And one of them had found a way to cheat death. And now, consider of what we found out about Ramses the Third's murderers – that one of them was a wizard. A powerful wizard using _Dark Magic_."

"Too many coincidences for my taste," Dennis Creevey commented nervously.

"Also remember the completion of the stellar circle. All of the ancient high cultures measured long periods of time with the help of the stars. In Egypt, everything was directed by the sun, the moon and the constellations. And we know today that some stellar cycles are completed after centuries, if not millennia."

"The warning Ronan gave McGonagall," Draco thought aloud, following Harry's line of thought. "You mean the one about the stars completing their cycle. Something has to be on the verge, because the time has finally come. Something can be done only now because the stars have reached the right configuration." He cocked his head. "Maybe they really do think they can resurrect this guy from all those centuries ago."

Harry puffed his cheeks and blew air from between closed lips. "We _must_ learn more about this particular wizard. If there are really people today who want to bring him back, then there must be an old covenant, or secret society. After all, we are discussing a man who lived more than _three thousand_ years ago. The knowledge of what must be done to complete his intentions must have been stored away and revered and handed down by at least a small group of wizards until our time."

"Something like an ancient conspiracy of Death Eaters?" Malfoy mused

Ron snorted, "God help us!"

Draco nodded in agreement with Ron's sentiment. "But it's possible. I told you I contacted my father about that special wizard who had a hand in the pharaoh's death, and he _visited_ me via the floo network to ask about my sudden interest in a dark wizard from long ago who had his own community of followers." He met the wide eyes of the others and added: "My father promised to find some answers, but the information would be too volatile to send by owl."

Harry groaned. "Wonderful! On the one hand, your second uncle moves heaven and earth to avenge Voldemort, and on the other, a gang of ancient Death Eaters who want to bring their own master back to life." He shook his head. "I'm _SO_ looking forward to finishing school!"

"Just wait until we get into Auror training," Ron grumbled.

Draco caught this bit of information that Harry and Ron both wanted to become Aurors with interest, but also with pleasure. He wasn't the slightest bit surprised that those two wanted to hunt dark wizards as a career. _'__They already have plenty of experience__,'_ he thought to himself.

Chewing at her lower lip, Hermione was thinking aloud. "When I go home, I'll do some research on the internet, and the libraries. I'm positive I can find out more about him. As soon as I have his name, I'll be able to search more effectively."

"And I'm certain that my father has information as well," Malfoy added. "Looking in Hogwarts' library didn't reveal much, but that's no surprise. The library here is really stocked for students, not containing detailed materials about other cultures." (It was testimony to Hermione's self-control for her not to react to this assessment of her favourite library.)

"What about those two Egyptian wizards who came today?" Luna mused. "Dumbledore said that El Hadary has fought the dark arts for many years. Yet he is here, in our country, at this time. We know it has to mean something."

"Yes," Harry sighed, leaning against a desk. "And that El Hadary's visit is no secret. After all, Abdelghani spoke about the visit of an old friend, his mentor, for days. And El Hadary will remain in Hogwarts while most of us are home."

"Except for our four wanna-be gods and their teacher," Ron said grimly. "With students and most teachers out of the way, they are free to do whatever they want, with no risk of getting caught."

"Perhaps, if Layla and the others really are those who broke into the museums, then perhaps they want to give the stolen artefacts to El Hadary so he can take them out of country," the Head-Girl suggested.

"That, or to put them safely away, to use them later for whatever they're planning," her Head-partner agreed.

"Then I will have a closer look at our distinguished visitor," Luna told them, smiling as a dozen pair of eyes were directed at her.

"What!" Harry began, instantly worried for his friend.

The mysterious Ravenclaw gave him one of her dreamy smiles. "Risk is everything in life. I learned that at the Ministry three years ago. But some risks must be taken to prevent bigger dangers from becoming real." She tossed a pale lock behind her back. "I will watch him."

"What about Edis?" Draco addressed her. "Had you noticed anything strange or odd about him?"

Luna shook her head. "No, not really – besides his tendency to sniff as if smelling things from time to time. And sometimes he seems to struggle with himself, but otherwise he is as natural as you and I."

The Prince of Slytherin grinned. "Well, in your case that's not-"

"No insults, Malfoy!" Ron growled. "I think Luna has suffered enough from your family."

"From the Death Eaters, not from him!" she said, defending Draco before he could utter a word. And, to Harry's surprise, her eyes were no longer vague, but stern; defending the Head-Boy in her own way. Then she calmed down as quickly as her temper had flared. "If Edis truly has a part of Anubis living in him, that would explain his curious tendencies."

"Tendencies? What sort of tendencies?" Andrew asked.

She shrugged distractedly. "He has a way of judging, or better yet, assessing everything and everyone. He loves dark and lonely places. He's found so many of them here in the castle I never knew about. He has an instinct for protecting the younger ones, especially the first-years." She was examining the ends of a lock of pale hair, possibly looking for split ends.

"He's protective?" Justin frowned. "I thought Anubis was the God of the netherworld, the judge of the dead, you might say. What has that to do with protecting children?"

"Anubis was a jackal," Hermione reminded him. "As a member of the wolf family, they are very social animals. Each one protects other members of the community, especially the pups. I suspect that the characteristics of the animals, which are presented as the Egyptian gods, are also resident in them – and therefore in Edis, too." She sighed, looking around. "All right, I do think it's time we return to the feast."

"I'll try to coax the centaur's prophecy out of Hagrid tomorrow," Harry mused. "Maybe we can find a few more puzzle pieces. And we'll have to wait to learn what your father found out, Draco. Until then, there is nothing more we can do except for keeping eyes and ears open." He glanced at Luna. "Especially you."

The girl nodded with another one of her airy smiles, then she hopped off the desk. "We should return to the Entrance Hall one or two at a time."

"Right!" Ron agreed. "I'll come with you." Luna laughed.

Ginny, who had been quiet the whole time, moved next to Harry. "If we two appear together from somewhere, no one will give a second thought about it," she smiled, winking at him. Harry grinned back.

"The same goes for us," Hermione told Draco, whose ears turned pink.

"Y-yes?" he asked, feeling everyone's eyes on him.

Shrugging innocently, Hermione added, "Head-duties! We are responsible for them even during a party." Malfoy shot her a glare that promised payback for pulling his leg like this. She turned to remove the charms from the entrance to the room.

"All right, until then," Harry said, vanishing with Ginny. By ones and twos, the other members of the D.A. left the classroom to mix with the party guests. But as Hermione moved to follow them, Draco held her back, allowing the room to empty around them.

"One moment, my dear," he growled. She looked up at him in surprise. He pulled her into his arms and whispered at her ear: "Playing with fire, Granger, using a double entendre in the presence of your friends?"

The Gryffindor-Queen shivered as his breath warmed her neck. "You have a filthy mind, Draco Malfoy. I only-"

" 'The same goes for us'? Well, if you insist, my lioness, then I will fulfil your wish!" His mouth closed over hers – hot, demanding. For a moment, Hermione struggled, then her arms slid around his waist and she gave in, returning his kiss with a hunger that seemed to grow with a life of its own. He plundered her mouth and she responded with an eagerness that no longer surprised him. When he finally raised his head, both out of breath, he smirked. "Been wanting to do that since the moment I laid eyes on you on the staircase. And be sure, that was only a foretaste of things to come!"

TBC…

_Well, what do you think? McGonagall and the others are close to the truth, but still not close enough – and Harry gathered more information about the whole problem._

_In the next chapter, our love-birds will have to say good-bye to each other, because holidays are up, but they will not part without… just wait (grin). And our heroes return home, but don't think they are going to face a lazy period of time. Oh no, there is a lot to come even away from Hogwarts._

_I hope you liked this chapter and I would be very, very happy to receive some reactions from you._

_Have a nice Sunday,_

_Love you all,_

_Lywhn_


	45. Partings and Homecomings

_Hi, my dear Readers!_

_Thank you so very, very much for the warm, complimenting and detailed reviews. I'm so happy to receive and to read them, you are encouraging me a lot._

_As promised this chapter will be sweet, hot, jolly… I'm almost certain you are going to like it, too._

_Have fun,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 44 – Partings and Homecomings**

The party lasted until the wee hours. The younger students left the feast before midnight, even if not by eleven o'clock, as instructed. McGonagall found dozens of them at the dance floor or seated about the room, and threatened them with Detention if they didn't return to their dormitories immediately. The ghosts patrolled all the classrooms for those who had, um, other ideas. Inwardly, the Headmistress remembered her own early Christmas parties, thinking that some things never changed.

Shacklebolt, Minister Abontreika and El Hadary retired to large, comfortable guest rooms on the second floor around two, more or less exhausted. Trees and Proudfood got two smaller private rooms nearby. By that time, it was obvious that both had enjoyed the wine. The Head-Students and the Prefects chased the remaining students to their dorms with the help of Professor Flitwick, a tipsy Filch (the first time anyone had ever seen the caretaker actually jolly and bearable) and Professor Sinistra, while the musicians were assigned two other guest rooms, where they were staying overnight.

"Finally!" Hermione sighed, on her way to the Heads' dorm, carrying her shoes in one hand and her over robe in the other one, feeling like she'd been running a race.

Draco grinned beside her. His eyes were bloodshot. He had enjoyed the wine as well, but he wasn't drunk enough to even consider skipping his plans for the night. Tomorrow, he and this living, breathing temptation would be separated for an entire fortnight, and he wouldn't let her go without pleasuring them both one last time.

Some of the portraits were empty, some crowded, and all were snoring. Hermione spotted Dumbledore on a couch together with a nice-looking middle-aged witch, both sound asleep. Malfoy saw Harold the Smitten lying, snoring, in a far-too-small armchair that belonged to an old wizard. Its resident had to find another place to sleep two portraits down. Several of the ghosts were still wandering the corridors. And Draco was certain he saw the Bloody Baron, the house ghost of Slytherin, taking a nap in a suit of armour. _'The next day will be quiet one for most of the inhabitants of Hogwarts,' _Hermione mused_. _And one look back into the Great Hall proved that the party had been a complete success. Confetti covered everything, the midnight buffet looked as if a herd centaurs had raced over it. Every bench and table had been shifted out of place to make room for dancing, or talking, or games. The only one left there was the Grey Lady, swaying to a soft Christmas carol she was humming among the candles near the ceiling.

Looking down on Hermione's stocking feet, the Slytherin Prince teased: "Typical female. Always taking off her shoes."

She shot him a glare, then a look at his own shoes. "Typical male, mocking us when all you wear are comfortable ones!"

"Comfortable?" Draco glanced at his patent leather shoes. "Do you have any idea how tight these little beasts are?"

Reaching up, Hermione tousled his silken hair. "Oh, poor boy," she crooned, her eyes sparkling. Chuckling, he tried to avoid her, but she was quicker, giggling as he ducked. She'd had very little to drink, but for someone who only drank alcohol once or twice a year, the four glasses of wine and two glasses of champagne with Kingsley and McGonagall had been quite a lot. She was tipsy and deeply relieved that everything had come off so well. Hermione was feeling very cheerful.

Draco grinned broadly, allowing her to chase him for a minute, but then, with one quick step he was in front of her. He hoisted her up and threw her over his shoulder. Hermione squealed and kicked, laughing like a little girl. And Draco joined her gleefully, thinking how much his life had changed for the better since this particular girl had become a part of it.

They made enough noise to rouse the occupants of several portraits, who grumbled and scolded, but the two paid no attention. Finally reaching their dormitory and giving the slurring knight the password, the Slytherin-Prince set her down, steadying her as she still giggled happily.

"If … if someone had seen us…" she chortled, fighting for breath.

Draco smiled, his grey eyes full of gladness. "They would have said, 'Look at that clever man with that beautiful witch!"

Beaming up at him, Hermione stood before him, head to the side and looking up through long lashes. "Beautiful?" she asked, moistening her dry lips. She had no clue how much it affected her lover to see her do that. She didn't even purpose to seduce him. But that wouldn't be necessary, because he burned for her all evening. No. She simply followed the instincts deep inside her, and it made his head spin.

"Hermione …" he whispered huskily, feeling the corralled desire flaring up.

Again she smiled, a knowing smile that challenged and teased him simultaneously. Then she dropped the robe and the shoes, standing in the glory of the exquisite dress. With the knowledge of a woman who realizes how completely the man in front of her desires her, she drew her fingers up the soft material of her gown. "You like it?"

Draco swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "I … I love it," he admitted under his unsteady breath.

Mischievousness spread over her glowing, flushed face. "Good. I chose it for you." When she saw his puzzled expression, she added with a giggle: "I only bought it because I knew that it would get your attention."

He stared at her, his wine-clouded mind struggling to grasp what she was saying. He suddenly remembered when she had purchased this dress. "But … you bought it in Hogsmeade when you were angry with me for … for invading your mind the evening before."

Twirling away, and stepping gracefully over the robe and shoes, she danced to the sofas, then looked back over her shoulder – flirting, alluring, teasing. "It was to be used as payback," she confessed, chuckling as she saw the confusion on his face. "I wanted to give you some of your own medicine, by making you crazy for me and then showing you the cold shoulder." Realization grew in his eyes, and she giggled. "And then you ruined my wonderful plan by making me want you, and the rest is history."

Draco stared at her for one, two, three seconds, then a dangerous chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Giving me a taste of my own medicine, eh?" He moved slowly toward her. "So, you were thinking about me _before_ all this?" He saw her eyes widening and smirked; his movements feral, those of a hunter nearing his prey. "Woke another kind of feeling in you after the duel, didn't I?" he suggested, his silver orbs darkening with lust. He was directly in front of her again, and bent down, his hot breath stroking the sensitive skin of her neck. "News flash for you, Granger. You've been making me crazy beginning the moment I saw you in that bit of swimsuit, down there on the shore of the Black Lake." His lips grazed her throat.

"I … I did?" she whispered, gulping as fire found its way from her neck to her toes.

"Yes, little Gryffindor, you did!" He slipped his arms around her slim waist, pulling her full against him. "And after teasing me mercilessly this entire evening with that damned gown, buying it only to make me suffer, I do think it's time for some payback from _me_!" His mouth sealed hers, and both groaned as her hands crept beneath his jacket. She surrendered and returned his kiss with a hunger that made him dizzy with want. By Merlin's beard, this girl was making him lose his mind – again! Every time they came together like this, he was incapable of one sane thought. Reality, their surroundings, the problems their relationship would cause the moment it became public – all those questions melted away as soon as their lips met. And as his fingers found the laces of her dress, gently pulling them open, his hot palm stroking the smooth silk of her skin, there was only one thing that still existed for Draco Malfoy: her. She was everything, everything he felt, everything that mattered, everything he wanted. Helplessly drawn by an influence that was stronger than anything else in his life, his only desire was to pleasure her, which gave him a bliss in return he never thought would be true for him.

Hermione was falling – again. The instant the gown slipped from her body and the air of the room breathed around her bare skin, his hands transforming her into a puddle of flaring nerves, she thought she was falling into a whirlpool of passion that seemed to burn her alive. Never had she suspected that she would find such delight in the arms of _this_ particular wizard; that she would forget even her own name as soon as this Slytherin touched her. To open up to another the way she was doing now – again – was dangerous, but one look from his hooded eyes showed her that he had become vulnerable as she. He was giving himself to her like thoroughly as she was giving herself to him, and it made her feel strong, but also weak – a combination that bound her even more closely to him.

Somehow they managed to strip off his dress suit, though this time his garments were more complicated than hers. Soon they were both naked, his clothing lying atop the dress and silk stockings, each surprised again by the desire in the eyes of the other. Lifting her in his arms he bore her up to his room, the champagne and the delicate chocolate dessert he had ordered from Peachy for her, left forgotten on the table between the sofas …

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione woke early the next morning. She heard the winter wind blowing around the castle and through the towers. The soft crackling of the open fireplace added to the cosiness of the large, comfortable bed. She felt tired and her body ached (somewhat less than before) in all the right places, showing that her a memorable night came with a price. Sighing in deep contentment, she turned toward the warm body beside her, looking into his face. He was still asleep and his expression was so peaceful and innocent that it made her heart ache with unexpected emotion she couldn't yet comprehend. A lock of blonde fell over his forehead, his mouth was slightly open, a small smile darting on and off his mouth. The scratches on his shoulder betrayed the fierceness of her passion and that she once again lost control in his arms.

Slipping one arm around his waist, Hermione pressed a gentle kiss on his chest and rested her head there, listening to the beat of his heart; a sound she would dearly miss, among other things ... mostly having him near her, and his kisses. She would miss their intellectual sparring, studying together, practicing spells with him, the teasing, their long conversations. She would miss his arms around her at night, his many expressions, and his laughter. She would miss his grumbling when they had an early morning, and watching him stumble into the shower, complaining that the world had something against him, to force him to leave his bed at such an hour. She would miss the way he chewed his quill when he was brooding over homework. She would miss his arrogant way of patrolling the castle as if he owned it. She would miss … well, she would miss _him_!

In former years, she was always sad when she had to leave the old castle and her friends for the holidays. The only thing she didn't miss then was 'the Ferret', because she knew he could count on him to insult her, or scoff at her, or make her uncomfortable with who she was, and she had been so weary of it by their fifth year. By the sixth, he had changed drastically. He'd quit Quidditch – and he loved the sport, that much she was sure of. He'd stopped bickering with her, skipped the insults toward Harry or Ron, even ignored them, while his appearance turned sicklier from week to week. At the end she had almost pitied him. She even suspected that he was being stressed out by his association as a Death Eater, almost feeling sorry for him. When she learned he had been responsible for bringing Death Eaters into Hogwarts, she was sure she would actually hate him. Before that, she'd simply loathed him, but in those moments she had felt a hot, searing hatred – until Harry described Malfoy's reaction up on the Astronomy tower; that the young man did not want to kill Dumbledore, that he had been desperate to avoid the task he had been forced to accept, and that he nearly decided to switch sides, to take Dumbledore's offer to protect him and his family – the only people he truly cared for.

Then, months later, she had been brought as a captive to Malfoy Manor. She saw him in the large dining room, ghostly pale, his expression full of resentment and fear, loathing that the adults around him were forcing him to identify the three of them. "It could be," was the closest he came then. She had despised him for simply watching the whole disaster taking place, without moving a finger. And she would have happily ripped his head off in the Room of Requirement when he tried to capture Harry, Ron and her. But the moment he tried to stop Crabbe, protecting Harry the best he could, and mourned later for his dead friend, she had sensed briefly that there was still hope for him; that he wasn't evil, only lost.

Yes, all right, her temper had gotten the better of her on the ride to school. Seeing him lounging there, taunting her as if nothing had changed since their fifth year, had set her off.

And then, everything changed!

Not only because of the events in the Forbidden Forest, or everything that happened until the horror in Hogsmeade. No. The change truly started the moment he kissed her, when he took her in his arms after he kept Greyback from kidnapping her. It was then he was no more the Slytherin villain, but a man – a man who made her feel things she never had before. The weeks between that kiss and their first night together had been a roller coaster of emotions for her, an alternation of shame, guilt, longing, only to finally give in to her feelings, and finding a fulfilment and peace in his arms she never thought possible.

And the idea of being separated from him for two very long weeks left her hurting inside. So unlike missing her friends during breaks. She was whole with him. Separation from him would make her feel as if she'd been cut in two. Hermione was accustomed to being strong. Growing up the weird, bookish only child of two dentists, she had experienced her own share of ostracism and persecution. Even if there were times she thought herself weak, but just this moment she had no desire to be the strong one. This time she wanted to crawl into her lover and to remain with him.

Biting her lips together, wishing that time would stop, she held onto him, refusing to return to sleep, intending to enjoy his presence until they had to return home. But the feast, and their activities before and after now claimed their due. She drifted back to sleep – secure in the arms of the young wizard, who was about to capture her well-guarded heart…

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Are you ready?"

The voice of the Head-Boy came to her from their common room. On the table stood the empty bowl of chocolate they had eaten together before breakfast two hours ago, and his bed was still unmade – proof that the house elves were exhausted from cleanup after the party. It seemed even house elves had their limits. Not for the first time Draco Malfoy regarded the lives of the creatures as living and feeling individuals, not just throwaway tools. Hermione was getting even changing him in his attitudes toward _them_.

Hermione entered the common room and paused to look at him. Draco was putting away his schoolbooks, wearing his travel robes with a black suit and high necked jumper beneath it. He looked so handsome, so typical, so ... _familiar_ to her that she swallowed a sigh. She was holding the carrier with Crookshanks in one hand and her coat slung over her other arm as she moved into the room. Her large trunk would remain in Hogwarts. She would only take a valise. She hoped to trade some clothes with others from home.

She shifted the carrier to her other hand, and he looked across the room at her, and the melancholy in her eyes touched him. He pursed his lips, and shook his head. He never knew that this could be so hard. He'd had relationships before, though never so intense or emotional, and he never had any difficulty saying goodbye to a girl. Right now, he was lost for words as he allowed his gaze to linger over this precious girl. She wore her favourite Muggle jeans, a warm pullover in light colours, and a shawl. If someone met her on the street, no Muggle could suspect she was one of the most intelligent and powerful people on the planet.

Gently taking the carrier from her and setting the valise on top, he cupped her face with both hands and looked into her dark chocolate eyes. She was wearing no makeup, but they were more beautiful than any others he'd ever seen. "Take care of yourself, Granger," he whispered, struggling with those strange warm feelings which were roiling inside him. "The world is a dangerous place, and I won't be around to save your cute little butt!"

Feeling the heat beneath his fingers even before he saw her blushing, he chuckled as she rolled her eyes. Then she placed her hands on his chest. "The same goes for you, Draco. Be careful, promise? Lestrange and the others have no clue where my parents live, but they certainly know where you'll be. I doubt they gave up on you already."

He smiled at that – that real, genuine smile that took her breath away as it had so often before. He _had_ to have some Veela-blood in him! There was no other explanation!

Bowing over her, he placed a gentle kiss on her lips, then pulled her into a tight embrace; knowing that it would be the last one for two weeks. Burying his face in her hair, he breathed her perfume, branding the memory of it in his mind. She was a light in the darkness all around him, and he knew that he would miss her deeply – something that never happened to him before. He sighed as, for one long beautiful moment, they clung to each other. The moment ended with the loud banging at the door, and the haughty voice of the knight protesting – yet again – that his armour wasn't for use as doorknocker.

Draco planted one last kiss on her forehead, then he went to the door and opened it, sighing, "Professor Slughorn, what-"

"Hurry down, you two!" he bawled at the leader of his House and the Head-Girl behind him. The Professor looked as if he had just gotten out of bed. His hair was dishevelled, his eyes were red and his waistcoat was buttoned crookedly. He must have been suffering from a hangover. "They're all already waiting for you!"

Grimacing, Malfoy nodded. "Right, we're on our way." He turned around and picked up Hermione's and his own valise, glancing around the common room. "Well, until next year!" he sighed.

They climbed the many stairs to the Headmaster's Office, but as they reached the seventh floor, Hermione recognized someone in the shadows. "Neriman?"

The Egyptian witch, wearing a long tunic over a warm pair of trousers, smiled. "I wanted to say farewell to you and … I have a gift for you." With graceful movements, she approached the two Head-Students and a curious teacher, then reached around the back of her neck. Unclasping it, she then held out the pendant on a chain in her hands. In the light from the high windows, they saw the necklace.

"What…?" Hermione began, as Neriman held before her. She saw an eye, framed with a longer curlicue at the side. With awe she saw that the piece was rather large; inset with turquoise, lapis lazuli and something red like coral, and that glistened of gold. Pure gold, there was no doubt about it. "Neriman!" she gasped. "You can't…"

"This is the Eye of Horus," the Egyptian girl explained as she closed the chain around Hermione's neck. "It will protect you, will blind those who desire to harm you. It holds the Light of Re." She lowered her arms, and smiled at the Head-Girl. "You need it more than I just now."

With trembling fingers Hermione touched the exquisite piece that lay heavily on her breast, still warm from Neriman's skin. "But … this is _gold_!" she protested, not able to grasp what the other girl was giving her.

Bell-like laughter pealed from the velvet-skinned magician's mouth, her green eyes sparkled with mirth. "Of course, Hermione! Didn't I just tell you that it holds the Light of Re? Re is the sun and gold is the blood of the sun." She stepped back, looking at her appraisingly. "It is the most powerful amulet of my people, and it is even blessed from one of our priests. It will protect you while you are away from Hogwarts' safety."

Hermione gulped, awestruck and astonished. "I … I can't accept this. This necklace has to cost thousands of galleons…"

Again Neriman only laughed, and shook her head. "Cost does not give it value, but the purpose does. So keep it until you come back. I feel better knowing that you have it with you." Then she directed her attention at Crookshanks, who meowed cheerfully at her, sticking one little paw through the grill and purred volubly when the oriental took the orange paw in her hand.

Draco frowned. "Would you look at that! And there I thought that little monster could only growl and hiss."

Hermione shot him a glare. "Oh yes, that's the reason why he loves it on your bed."

"Which means what? That I like him or that he likes me?" Draco teased, ignoring the puzzled glances of the Potion Professor.

"Which ever!" Hermione sighed, still watching Neriman some astonishment. Yes, she was wary of the four. She and the others knew that their Gryffindor guest was not all that she seemed to be, that somewhere inside her slumbered a powerful being, emerging whenever needed. Hermione still got a mild case of the willies when she thought about Neriman and the others sharing their souls with those ... creatures. Forceful wizards? Or some kind of deities? No, she couldn't believe that one. After all, she was raised as a Christian, and other 'deities' always turned out to be demonic. But whatever personalities were behind the names Bastet, Anubis and all the others _did_ exist, and Hermione respected their strength and power.

And now Neriman had given her an amulet to protect her – not an ordinary trinket or souvenir, but a powerful and magical one. She could feel a gentle prickling where it lay on her skin from the magic hidden there.

Neriman rose after bidding farewell the half Kneazle (Crookshanks meowed again as if in understanding) and smiled at the two Head-Students. "Have a wonderful trip home, and – how do you say here? – Happy Christmas!"

Hermione couldn't help herself. Egyptian goddess or no, the other girl's thoughtfulness touched her. The Gryffindor-Queen pulled the other witch into a warm hug. "Thank you, Neriman! Thank you for the protection. And Happy Christmas to you, too, and don't let time hang heavy on your hands."

"Na, Wilhelmina will be here and… well, Abdel and Edis are here, too."

"And with Abdel you will never get bored," Draco growled, his grey eyes showing amusement.

Blushing prettily, Neriman softly laughed. "Just don't get bored without Hermione."

"Why should I get bored that bookworm?" he asked, his ears turning pink.

"Bookworm?" Hermione asked, challenging him. "And what's that supposed to mean, you … you _Slytherin!_"

"Exactly what I said – _Gryffindor_!" he retorted.

Slughorn loudly cleared his throat. "Sorry to interrupt this intellectual debate, but Minister Shacklebolt and the others are waiting!" He jerked his head toward the floor above them. "Say your goodbyes then off you go." Both senior students groaned. Draco picked up her valise as well as his own, and Hermione took Crooshanks.

They followed the professor up the final staircase, to the gargoyle who stood proudly motionless before the entrance to the Headmaster's Office.

"Password?" The voice of the golden statue sounded as if two stones were rubbed at each other.

"Choco frocks," Horace said and Hermione held in her giggle. The password was still the name of a sweet? It seems that McGonagall was more nostalgic than she would have suspected.

The gargoyle turned away and revealed the circulating staircase, and they climbed up. They heard voices. Hermione and Draco identified them as Shacklebolt, McGonagall, Dumbledore and Abontreika, while under them, they heard Harry and Ron talking. Trees and Proudfood were also there.

"Good morning, gentlemen. Minerva!" Slughorn called, as if notifying the occupants that others had arrived. All the living people and the occupants of the portraits, all former headmasters, turned to face them.

"Finally!" McGonagall said, looking stern. "So glad that you two could make it," she commented dryly. "We've already waited over fifteen_ minutes_ for you."

Hermione had the decency to blush, while Draco looked down instead of rolling his eyes. He politely bowed his head. "Our apologies, Professor, but it's impossible to cut short the maudlin farewell of two girlfriends."

He felt the Hermione's eyes shooting daggers at him, and he smirked.

Shacklebolt stifled a yawn, then chuckled. "Who?" Ginny asked, she asked, and Hermione sighed.

"Neriman. She gave me a protective amulet." She took out the Eye of Horus and even McGonagall gasped when she saw it.

"Interesting," Dumbledore's portrait commented. "The Eye of Horus. A rather potent amulet, especially with those additional gemstones."

The two Aurors in the background nodded. "I must agree," Abontreika stated, leaning toward Hermione and the pendant, eying it curiously. "This is very old. Who gave it to you?"

"Neriman Sahid, sir," the Head Girl answered, and the Egyptian Minister pursed his lips.

"It is quite valuable." He smiled at her. "Take good care of it, my dear."

"I will!" she replied softly, looking over to Dumbledore, who was watching her closely. Was she mistaken or did he look … worried?

"All right, it's time," McGonagall cut in and turned towards a certain portrait. "Severus, please inform the Malfoys that their son is ready to transport?"

Professor Snape nodded, black hair bobbing. "Of course, Headmistress." He stared at his godson. "Two cases?" he asked, eyeing Draco.

Draco glanced down. "Oh. Here." He handed Hermione her valise, who quietly took it.

Harry noticed the gesture of _Draco _carrying Hermione's luggage. He exchanged a quick glance with Ginny, while Ron stared perplexedly at the two.

Snape sighed and glared at the girl, mumbling something that sounded very much like "Hopefully Lucius will never learn of this!" Then he left his frame.

Seeing the questioning eyebrow, Draco drawled: "Another portrait of him hangs in Malfoy Manor. So he is able to contact my parents when necessary." He looked at Harry, who cocked his head in a wordless question. "He was my godfather," he revealed, then chuckled when he saw the shock written on the faces of the other three students.

Harry stared at Hermione, who was unimpressed. "You knew about this?" he asked, and the girl shrugged, "Draco already told me."

"Heart-touching this display of House unity, don't you agree, Albus? After all, that is something for which you campaigned for decades," Snape's drawl returned and he walked back into his frame. "The wards of the floo-network in Malfoy Manor will be lifted in a minute, Draco. Be ready."

Taking a deep breath, the Head-Boy lifted his valise, nodding towards the Ministers. "Happy Christmas, gentleman, and thank you for your joining us in our Christmas ball."

Kingsley smiled. "You did a fine job, Mr. Malfoy. Safe journey home and Happy Christmas to you and your parents."

Draco returned a half smile. "Uncle Sev, Professor Dumbledore," then he looked at Horace and Minerva, "Professor Slughorn, Professor McGonagall, Happy Christmas." His grey eyes found the four Gryffindors, while in the open fireplace the flames changed from their gold red into green: the network had opened. "Weaslette, Weasel, Potter, have a nice time." Then he glanced at his Head-partner. "Happy Christmas, Granger. Stay out of trouble, all right?"

Hermione tried to smile back; feeling hot tears behind her eyes. "You too. Don't get lost."

He chuckled. "I'm certain that a particularly nosy know-it-all would find me."

"Yeah, if only to hex you into oblivion – _Ferret_."

"Draco?" the distant voice of Lucius Malfoy was heard from the fireplace.

"Coming, Father." Taking a handful of the glittering floo-powder from the vessel beside the fireplace, he stepped into the green flames. "Bye – _bookworm_!" He threw the green powder into the fire. "Malfoy Manor!" he said firmly, and a moment later the green light engulfed him whole and took him away.

McGonagall, who had watched the interaction between the five students with interest, called into the fireplace, "Mr. Malfoy, has your son arrived?"

"He is here, Professor. Good day," came the abrupt reply, then the flames changed back to gold – the wards of Malfoy Manor were again active, blocking any unauthorised activity.

Hermione felt Ginny's hand squeezing her shoulder. Hiding her feelings, she forced a smile on her face as Harry bid the teachers good bye. "Hey, it's only two weeks," her friend whispered only for her ears.

"I know," Hermione sighed, before she glanced at her friend and mumbled, "And I miss him already."

Behind them, Dumbledore's eyes twinkled and there was a smile behind the beard. _Young love … ah, he would never grow tired of watching it unfold over and over again among the generations of students who were still to come to Hogwarts … _

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione apparated to the snowy garden behind her parents' house, smiling at Proudfood who had accompanied her from the Ministry to the northern suburb of London. Warily he looked around him, frowning up to a roof. "What is_ that_?" he asked, pointing toward a round flat object attached at the roof of the neighbouring house.

"A satellite dish, to receive more programs on the television. You know TV? – the boxes with the moving and speaking pictures, showing real things or something like theatre?" Hermione had learned early on to describe the well-known Muggle devices in simple terms.

The Auror thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, I have seen them here and there." He glanced back to the roof. "And Muggles use this thing to make more choices about what they want to see for entertainment?"

Hermione chuckled. "Yes, even shows from all over Europe, or even further."

"Amazing!" Proudfood mumbled. Hermione smiled as he reminded her of Arthur Weasley's fascination with anything Muggle. "It seems they have discovered their own kind of magic." He glanced at the French window at the back of the house. "Shall I take you to the front door, or-"

"No, that won't be necessary, Mr. Proudfood. I'll make it from here on. No Death Eater knows where my parents live."

The Auror grinned. "Your neighbours would certainly have something to gossip about if they saw you returning from school with an odd duck like me, wouldn't they?" Before she could protest, he patted her back and retreated. "Happy Christmas, Miss Granger. I'll pick you up on the third of January in the morning. Good bye!"

Before she could return the sentiment, Proudfood had already made a quick turn and disapparated with a loud _crack_. Shaking her head, Hermione picked up her valise and the basket with a very upset Crookshanks, who was unaccustomed to travelling via floo-network and apparation! She approached the French doors that opened into the kitchen. And she'd only gone a few steps the doors flew open and an older woman ran into the garden, her brown curly hair so similar to her daughter's. "Hermione! Sweetheart!"

Dropping the case and the carrier, the young witch found herself in a tight embrace, and laughing, she returned the warm welcome with all her heart. Behind her mother she saw her father coming out of the house, too, his dark hair showing the first silver at the temples. He gathered both wife and daughter in his arms, whispering: "Welcome home, little one!"

And for now, Hermione was very happily home.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hundreds of miles away, Harry watched, beaming, as Molly Weasley cuddled Ron and Ginny alternately; both clearly embarrassed, and Bill and George teased them mercilessly.

His eyes surveyed the kitchen of the large rented cottage, located at the edge of a small village on a large island. A table with ten chairs dominated the centre of the room. There was the oven, heated by peat (he'd noticed the bin beside the stove), the family-sized sink with an even larger draining board overhung by shelves, and a large cupboard completed the furnishings. A delicious aroma in the air of a cake in the oven lay, and there was a large pot on the stove, with wreaths of savoury steam coming rising from it. This was something Harry loved about the Weasley's home, all the wonderful smells. When Aunt Petunia cooked, all good smells were whisked from the house by an oversized extractor fan. Most of the house smelled of bleach and pine cleaner. Here, in this warm happy kitchen, Christmas garlands framed the windows, and on the dining table, a Christmas floral arrangement sat with a tiny, merrily waving Father Christmas. And Harry knew that the entire house would be much like this kitchen. So typically for this family: warm, cosy, comfortable, homey, and very loving. He was delighted to be here during the holidays.

A movement behind the bantering brothers attracted his attention and, grinning, he recognized Fleur, with a baby on her arms. "Teddy!" he whispered, seeing his godson for the first time since school started, but before he move toward them, a joyful "Harry, my dear boy!" made him pause.

Molly had let finally go of her quite rumpled youngest children, and raced to Harry. He instinctively backed up, but to no avail. He found himself in a tight hug, and Molly Weasley cuddled and fussed over Harry as if he were a lost son, finally home after many years! It was the Weasley children's turn to grin at him, gently and silently mocking him behind their mother's back, while Fleur laughed softly, stroking Ted Lupin's small back. The baby gabbled in infant joy, pulling a lock of her long yellow hair.

"Ah, there you are!" Arthur Weasley strode into the sun flooded kitchen and embraced Ginny. He pulled his youngest son in a brief, strong hug, boxing him sympathetically on the upper arm. "Alright, m'boy, what do you have to tell me, hm?" Harry noticed with some shock that he showed more silver in his hair than before.

Ron seemed to shrink. His father lifted both brows, glancing quickly at his wife, who still assailed Harry with questions - was he was all right, how was school, and was it true that they weren't hurt during the attack of Hogsmeade? "Your mother was beside herself when she received that letter from the Headmistress," Arthur whispered, almost conspiratorially.

Even chattering at Harry, Molly proved once again that there was nothing wrong with her ears. She turned on her heel and pointed at Ron. "A fine letter for a mother to receive, Ronald Bilius! Embarrassed me to _tears!_ Just you wait until your father talks with you!"

Gulping Ron glanced at his father, who subtly shook his head, but straightened the moment Molly snapped: "Of course you will talk about it with him, Arthur!"

Her husband cleared his throat. "Of course, Molly, I will!" He looked sternly at his son, winking the moment his wife turned away. Ron sighed in relief. If his father wasn't angry about the incident, then the lecture wouldn't be that bad.

Arthur pulled a face and shook his head. Of course he would have to speak with Ron about his unacceptable behaviour, but being male, he understood how Ron had lost control. It had happened to him once or twice as well. The last time it happened was when he brawled with that arrogant prick, Lucius Malfoy, in Diagon Alley. As far has he'd been told, Ron had been jealous because Hermione seemed to be getting too cosy with Lucius' son. Arthur didn't believe that part. Hermione was too smart to fall for the tricks of that twitchy little coward, but Ron had a tendency to overreact, and so it had to come to a blowup. No, Arthur disapproved of it happening in front of all the students, or that Ron had snapped at the professors, but his son was still young and had a lot of temper to go with that red hair, and not much practice at self-control. It would be a simple matter to retreat into a private room, and speak with him –man to man.

But first he would enjoy the arrival of his youngest children, and having them beneath his roof again, as well as Harry, who had become another son for this kindly and generous wizard …

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco finally laid down his knife and fork, looking up at both parents. They were taking their lunch in a salon that offered room for about a dozen people, and was therefore more private than the formal dining room on the first floor. Silver, white and green seasonal decorations gave the dark-panelled room a brighter atmosphere, with its high ceiling, the large windows and the gull wing doors, leading to the balcony at the rear of the manor, facing the large gardens. The fire crackled in the fireplace, bright sunlight bathed the room in a silver winter light, illuminating some of the lazy dust motes. The old restored furniture was spotless and polished to a bright gleam, and the chairs, of the classic Tudor design, gleamed in their new leather cushions.

"Are you having a Christmas party?" Draco was perplexed, watching his mother. She looked far more at peace since he saw her the last time. The war had left traces in her beautiful countenance. There were new creases around and between her eyes, and she had lost some weight during the spring and the summer, but now she looked healthier and her dark eyes were shining again. Especially now, as she spoke enthusiastically to him of the small feast they would host on Christmas day, like they did every year before Voldemort returned.

"Yes, not so large as when you were little. This one will be more private," she answered, using her napkin before she sipped from her glass of white wine.

"Only a few couples who are still our friends," Lucius added, serving himself two more potatoes along with the fish they had for lunch. "There will be also a surprise for you, Draco – as nice a surprise as you could wish for."

He looked back and forth between his parents. "What kind of surprise?"

His father grinned, a genuine smile like Draco would give his friends. "You know what 'surprise' means, Son!"

Rolling his eyes, Draco mumbled something, watching his parents exchanging an amused glance. He was glad that the atmosphere had grown easier, less dark, less sad since last summer. Even after the attack last autumn, his parents seemed more at peace, hoping to achieve the state of the manor to that of the time before Voldemort had taken it over.

"So, tell us, how is school going?" Lucius changed the topic, offering his wife some more wine.

"Quite well. The tests finished right before the holidays, and I'm sure that I'll get an 'O' in most of my classes."

Not glancing at his son but pealing some flesh off the fishbone. "So, that Granger-thing isn't ahead of you anymore?"

Draco felt his stomach tighten, but kept his expression neutral. "She is quite skilled in most of her classes, especially in Potions, Transfigurations and Ancient Runes. She still has problems in Charms, but," he cleared his throat, "I think she will master them." – _'With my help!'_ he added in thoughts, smiling as the picture of her leaning over her books, chewing her lower lip, popped in his head.

Narcissa looked at her husband, wishing that her husband was not so upset that a Muggle-born had out-performed their son. "Well, that sounds promising, Draco."

Lucius nodded. "Yes, I'm proud of you, Son." He offered him some filtered butter for the potatoes. "And how are your guest students?"

Two pairs of grey eyes met. "They are … interesting," the young wizard replied carefully; knowing that he couldn't fool his father when they were face to face.

"I knew that much, considering the questions you sent me," the elder Malfoy snorted.

"Did you discover-" Draco began cautiously, and his father lifted one brow.

"I did some research on the subject you wanted, but I do think we can discuss this later." He gave him a look that made it clear that he didn't want to talk about it now. And Draco knew that he would have to be patient. His father wouldn't reveal to him what he found until he was ready.

TBC…

_So, my dear Readers, finally our heroes are home. And, believe me, the peaceful time will be short, just beginning next chapter with some more information and a deeper view into the Malfoy-family history._

_I do hope you liked this chapter and I'm looking forward to get some reactions._

_Because I'm on holiday for the next 1,5 week, you will have to wait for the next chapter a tat longer than usually; so please no flames here (laugh)._

_Have a nice weekend,_

_Love you all,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	46. Christmas Surprises

_Hallo, my dear Readers,_

_Just back from holidays and then my eyes almost popped out of my head as I saw your reactions to the last chapter or the whole story. Thank you so very, very much for the many reviews and the kind words. I am so happy that you like the story and my way of writing and I can promise you that there will come several thrilling twists within the next chapters._

_That brings me straight to the new one I'm publishing now. Yeah, Christmas is nearing (and when I look out of my window I almost could believe it for real, because 9 °C, rain and storm aren't anything you would expect for summer – sigh), and there are a lot of surprises for our friends. There will also be an interesting revelation Lucius will present his son concerning the Egyptian ancient wizard and the own family. _

_I'm certain you are going to like it._

_I wish you fun,_

_Love you all,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 45 – Christmas Surprises**

The eve of Christmas Eve, December 23, flew by – not only at the Weasleys' and Grangers, but also at the Manor. Somehow Draco's father had convinced the Ministry to send four Aurors to accompany them to Diagon Alley. Risky or not, his family _would_ go to the shops before Christmas. So the three Malfoys, together with two house elves and the Aurors, went shopping, greeting those who allowed it, or ignoring those who snubbed them. While Lucius accompanied two Aurors to the bank, Narcissa and Draco visited the shops, buying new robes, a dress for the lady, more decorations, and placed an order for the final treats for the party. Then they parted, to look for Christmas surprises for each other.

The young Auror who accompanied Draco, a dark French wizard, Françoise Rapinard, was pleased to find that Malfoy spoke fluid French, they were soon chatting away, fifteen to the dozen. And when Draco vanished into a jewellery shop, Françoise gave Draco more time to search for a present than he'd been advised to. But the Head-Boy needed some time to find something suitable for ... Hermione.

He had given a variety of gifts in years past to Pansy. She'd giggled over anything that was expensive, and immediately recognized as such. And he assumed it would be just as easy to choose something for his secret lover, but he was wrong. As much as he knew about Hermione, he was sure she wouldn't accept anything expensive or ostentatious. And the large pieces wouldn't look right on her. It had to be something beautiful, delicate, intelligent, strong, simple but also extraordinary – exactly like the Gryffindor-Queen.

The shop owner was glad to have a Malfoy back as customer. He presented piece after piece while Draco sat in the velvet Queen Anne chair. He moved to wave away a slim silver and gold bracelet, thinking it too simple. But from one second to the next, Draco knew that he had found the right gift. He took it in his hands and examined the detailed grape vine tendrils twisting about one another other, one silver, one gold, with tiny bunches of gold and silver grapes at the junctures. Wine was a symbol of life, of revelation, of truth. Wine was also called 'the blood of the Earth', used in holy ceremonies, used as a sacrificial gift, represented the blood of the Saviour. And, if he remembered correctly, Hermione's wand was entwined with vines, as well. Gold and silver, Gryffindor and Slytherin. It was _perfect_!

"I'll take it," he said, handing the bracelet the shop owner. "Please wrap it up."

The older wizard smiled, remembering the first time Lucius had brought the boy, still a toddler, into his shop to choose cuff links. He'd watched him change over the years, and not all of the changes were good. But, on this trip, the darkness had left the boy's eyes. And then he saw the glow, that warm light that lingered there as he gently ran his finger around the surface of the bracelet. The shop owner smiled. "I'm certain the young lady will be happy with this. A very good choice, Mr. Malfoy. Gold 18 karat, and the white gold the same."

Draco lifted a brow. White gold instead of silver? Yes, even better. Not only more valuable than silver, but both vines made of the same material made it stronger. "Very good, Master van Maleston. The price?"

The man cleared his throat. "Well, you see how extraordinary the detail, and the craftsman was goblin taught. And the purity of the gold-"

"A simple answer, please! How much?" The arrogance was still there, but not as pronounced as in earlier years.

"Seven hundred and eighty galleons."

Draco bit his cheek. "And my price?"

"That is already the preferential price, Mr. Malfoy. This bracelet would normally retail at fifteen hundred and fifty galleons." He smiled apologetically at the young man in front of him.

The decision had already been made. Sighing, the Slytherin-Prince pulled out his wallet and filled out a bank draft, using a quill van Maleston seemed to produce from the air, adding three galleons to the total. "Show this at Gringotts. You will be paid immediately from my private account. The extra is for your effort. I do not have that amount with me."

The old wizard took the proffered cheque with a smile. "Of course, Mr. Malfoy. It is always a pleasure to do business with your family." A swish and flick of his wand and the bracelet was nestled into a carved wooden box between several folds of black velvet. Another quick charm, and shimmering paper was wrapped around it, and a golden and silver string knotted itself around the present. He handed it to Draco with a shallow bow. "My regards to your beautiful mother and your father, Mr. Malfoy. And my best wishes for you and the young lady."

Feeling oddly light-hearted, finding something so right for Hermione, a symbol for so many things significant to them both, he took the small box and pocketed it inside his robe. "Thank you, and happy Christmas to you and your family!" Nodding kindly to him, Draco left the building – leaving behind a surprised wizard. His wife came through the curtains hiding the back room. "Sweet Merlin, what happened to the stroppy young Malfoy? I almost didn't recognize him!" she whispered.

Her husband chuckled, then bending to kiss her cheek: "What happens to all of us when it hits us: he is in love!"

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Hermione washed her hands, while she admired the turkey she'd just stuffed with sweet chestnuts and herbs, then rubbed with butter. She loved to cook and her mother, who was checking the temperature of the oven, stole many glances at her daughter. Hermione was humming to herself. She'd lost herself in a daydream a couple of times. She'd caught her no less than five separate times, smiling for no particular reason. And then there was that gleam in her eye ... Jean Granger could tell: her daughter was in love. Not a crush like before. This was deeper.

"So, who is it?" the dentist asked suddenly, taking Hermione by surprise.

"Who's who?"

"That would be a special compilation of important people," Mrs. Granger joked, then blew a lock of hair from her eyes. "Come on, darling, who's put you on that pink cloud?"

She stared at her mother, momentarily lost for words. "Uh … we made pink clouds our third year in charms," was the only answer that came to mind.

She chuckled. "Honey, you're in love, that much is transparently obvious." She took a kitchen towel and started to dry the knife Hermione had used to chop the herbs, while her daughter could only look at her, mouth open. "Is it still Ron Weasley?" she asked, knowing that Hermione had a crush on the red fox she'd met her first year.

The Gryffindor Queen sighed and dried her hands. "Ron and I had a fight," she admitted, not looking at her mother.

"About what?"

That was something the young witch loved so much about her mother: Mrs. Granger always mingled curiosity with gentleness, giving her the feeling of understanding. "Ron was… jealous."

"Of another boy?"

Hermione sighed. "Yes. But… he had no reason." – _'Then!'_ she added to herself, knowing that it wasn't completely true by that time.

Her mother ran the cutting board under the water, scrubbing the bits of green from the surface. Sensible as she was, she noticed the hesitation of her daughter. "And now?" She watched Hermione, who blushed, before she slowly nodded.

Mrs. Granger had met Ronald Weasley several times, along with Harry Potter, who, she understood, was famous throughout the wizarding world. Both boys seemed quite nice, and were loyal friends to her daughter, and she liked them both. Instinctively she hadn't believed that the romance between Hermione and the red-haired boy would last. She'd learned of it after she and her husband returned to England, after their memories had been restored. After the war her daughter had played such a central part in. She liked the Weasleys, even if Ron's father's enthusiasm at meeting 'real Muggles' had surprised and amused her. She was astonished at this fascination. After all, wizards were unknown in her world. But she had known from the beginning that the freckled young boy and her daughter couldn't be more than friends – like Hermione was with this other boy, who had a lightning-bolt scar on his forehead and smiled openly at everyone with large, green eyes. So the fact that Hermione and Ron had had a falling out wasn't a surprise.

"And who is the young man who captured my daughter's heart?" she teased, tugging one of Hermione's curls.

The girl blushed. "He… he hasn't 'captured my heart'. He … he's just … uh ..." She bit her lip.

"Gorgeous, handsome, lovely, kind, sweet, smart, sensible, skilled, interesting?" she prompted.

Clearing her throat, Hermione searched for the right words. "He is handsome, yes, and sensible too. But kind? Not for long, that's for sure. Lovely?" She thought back at their first night together, as he showered and washed her, carrying her into the bath. Without noticing it a yearning smile appeared on her face. "Yes, he is. He … he is thoughtful and gentle, and he cares about me. He looks after me. And he's quite smart and very skilful."

Her mother sat down on a kitchen chair. "Who is it?"

Hermione hesitated a moment, before she answered: "Do you remember me mentioning Draco Malfoy?"

Her mother thought for a moment, then frowned. "Isn't he an enemy? The one who called you 'mudblood' and picked on you and your friends?"

Hermione nodded. "The same."

Rubbing her chin, Jean watched her daughter's face warily. "That's interesting …"

Sighing, her daughter sat down at the corner of the table by her mother. "He's changed, Mum," she replied softly. "He changed completely. The war … the evil ... it opened his eyes, made him see what he wanted and gave him the courage to pursue it." She bit the other side of her lip. "And he saved my life." Her mother dropped the paring knife she was holding. "He saved me from a werewolf and … and he saved me from being kidnapped and raped." All colour had drained from her mother's face. "And he made peace with Harry. It was something to see! He's still struggling to find his way through all the changes. They're really drastic, if you knew anything about his family. He isn't the same boy he was. He … he's special," she finished. In her mind, she saw his breathtaking smile developing from his infamous smirk.

Her mother needed a moment to assimilate this information, then she reached out and took her daughter's hand in hers. "And you think that he might be the right one?"

Feeling new heat rising in her cheeks, Hermione shrugged. "Our … relationship is young, Mom. I don't know what will come out of it. Not now. But I will give it a try. Draco is… quite special."

Nodding slowly, the woman sighed. "Well, it's not up to me to decide whom you can date, and I'm certain that this boy truly has changed. Otherwise, you would beat him into submission instead of letting him into your life. Everyone confronted by war comes out of it changed. And if you think that this boy deserves a chance, then I'll back you." She cupped her daughter's cheek. "But if he mistreats you, let me know. Wizard or no, I will make certain he needs braces!"

Hermione pictured her petite mother confronting the tall Slytherin and started to laugh. "You would need help. Draco is about an inch taller than Dad and in terrific shape. I don't see how you'd ever get to him!"

Jean lifted a brow, thought about a young man that tall – and laughed with her. "Well, we'll see!" she joked, and changed the subject. "So, tell me, who gave you the necklace?" She pointed at the Egyptian amulet. "Your new friend?"

Hermione fingered for the pendant, shaking her head. "No, it's from one of our Egyptian guests who was assigned to my house. Her name is Neriman. She only gave it me for the time I'm away from Hogwarts. It's a kind of … talisman."

The word was too familiar. She looked deeply into her daughter's eyes. "A talisman? I've learned that they can be quite powerful. After all, your father and I have discovered that magic does indeed exist on this planet. And remembering that you and your friends are always at the front of the line when something is afoot, I can't deny that I'm more than a tad worried. Is everything satisfactory now – in the wizardry world, I mean?"

Searching for the right words, Hermione finally replied. "A few of the people who followed Voldemort – or, to use his real name, Tom Riddle – escaped and are still causing trouble. They were in Hogsmeade, the village I called you from on the phone, near our school, but the Aurors – they're like wizarding police – came and chased them away. The Ministry is concerned for Harry, Ron and me because we had a large part in Voldemort's defeat. Neriman and the others know this, of course, and so she gave me her Eye of Horus to protect me during break."

Nodding slowly, Jean hefted the piece in her palm. "It's… incredible detailed. And certainly expensive. You take good care of it."

Smiling, Hermione nodded. "I will and … _Crooks_!" Only now both women noticed that the half-Kneazle – who was just a cat in Mrs. Granger's eyes – had prowled into the kitchen and was crouched by the table, eying the turkey with predatory determination. "Oh no, you don't!" Hermione snapped, rose and shooed the irritated Crookshanks away. With an offended hiss he vanished, grumbling all the way to the bedroom.

Mother and daughter looked at each other and laughed. And both were still giggling when Mr. Granger returned from his shopping trip.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

"Check the mirror, Ron. Your head was not bitten off," Harry teased as Ron entered the small room they shared on the first floor.

Ron shoved his chin forward. "Dad … well, it was more a man-to-man talk than the lecture I was promised. He understands that it all happened because of Malfoy. My dad and old Lucius are still not best of chums, you know."

"But ... ?" Harry prompted, noticing the tone his friend had used.

"He didn't like that I yelled at a teacher. And not just one, but three, and the Headmistress herself." He sighed, dropping onto his bed. "Yeh, I know, I was a prat. I did apologize to Sprout, Slughorn and McGonagall, but Dad said that wasn't enough – that I had to be on my best behaviour until graduation. After all, McGonagall is something like the leader of the Order of the Phoenix since Dumbledore died." He suddenly grinned. "And then I had to tell him exactly what I threw in Malfoy's ugly face."

Harry shook his head in amusement. "Did you also tell your father also that Malfoy doused you with ice water?"

Ron pointed towards his head. "Am I daft? O'course not!" Then his smile faltered. "He asked me why I was shouting at Hermione, and he thinks that I must have misunderstood what was going on. He said that Hermione is much too smart to even consider Malfoy as anything other than a spoiled brat." He snorted. "I have to disagree. I'm not blind, Harry. I can see the sparks between them, the way they look at each other. And the way they stood together during at the entrance to the Christmas ball, and then sat, side by side, at the teachers' table, looking for all the world like a ... a ... a _couple_…" He frowned. "They're not just friends."

Harry made a face and nodded. "Yeah, I see it, too. Ginny is covering up for them. Whenever Malfoy fussed about Mione or vice versa, your sister grins and winks at Hermione." He saw Ron frown. "We won't get any more from her until Mione opens up about her and Malfoy."

Grumbling the youngest Weasley son rubbed his face. "Yeah. Ginny is as loyal – or pigheaded – as they come."

Harry grinned at him. "I do know someone who is even more stubborn, but I'm okay with it."

Confused Ron stared at him. "Who?"

"Looked in that mirror lately?" came the dry reply. The puzzled look only lasted a moment, then he hurled a pillow at his friend, who ducked, and burst into laughter. Returning fire, Harry and Ron began the pillow fight that soon included Bill and George.

Hearing the laughter, Molly Weasley and Ginny exchanged a glance, and before both giggled. "Boys!"

The following night brought new snow over the islands. The famous Gulf Stream normally provided a temperate climate. But not now. The moisture from the Atlantic, mingled with an icy wind from the north, fulfilled every child's wish for a white Christmas. As Harry and Ron gazed out of their window the following morning, the village was covered in a thick blanket of snow. With loud whoops and hurrahs, they got dressed and dashed into the kitchen, only to be stopped by Molly, who was already busy there. Pointing to the door, she smiled: "Ah, there are my strong young heroes. The snow shovels are already next to the door. And don't forget to clear the walk in front of the house, too."

"Snow shovels?" they both asked, thunderstruck. "Mom, we're _wizards_!" Ron protested.

His mother nodded in understanding. She gave them both a stern pay-attention-or-else look. "Yes, we are wizards – in a village full of Muggles, who haven't the slightest clue that something like magic exists. So…"

"The Irish put out cream for the Little Folk, Molly, so they do believe in magic," Harry interjected and Ron nodded enthusiastically.

Molly propped her hands on her hips. "Passing along old traditions and fairytales doesn't change the fact that they're _Muggles_ and don't know anything about us. And it must remain that way. So, please, use the shovels and clear the walks. And while you're so full of energy, you can also dig a path from the kitchen door to the dustbins. It will make it easier for me."

Harry sighed in submission, while Ron frowned deeply. "Child's work is forbidden, Mom."

Molly gave her son a bright smile. "Then thank Heaven that I don't see any children here, but strong young men, both of age." She waved her hand dismissively. "Off you go, you two. When you're done, breakfast will be ready. Ham and eggs?"

At the mere suggestion, Ron's mouth watered and Harry's stomach agreed by growling like a wolf. Molly laughed quietly as the two friends stomped out of the house. There they were, real war heroes, bringing down the darkest wizard in living memory – behaving like schoolboys. Molly smiled gently, glad to see their merry mood. The life of a grown-up would catch up with them much too soon.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

While Harry and Ron fought their way through the snow, shovelling away the white glory to piles next to the walk (occasionally interrupted by a snowball battle), Hermione was helping her father do the same. In the large manor in Wiltshire another young man rose from his bed and padded sleepily to the window, drawing back the rich green velvet curtain. Not quite awake, Draco stared at the brilliant field of white which was normally their sculpted garden, then his eyes widened. "It snowed!" he cried, mouth widening into a grin. Prince of Slytherin, heir of a wealthy pureblood family, future heir of an empire of businesses. But when it came to snow at Christmas, he still felt the same joy as any other child.

He heard again the 'eeee-_AHHHHRRR_!' through the window, and realized what woke him up. Down, near the terrace in the back garden, two of their white peacocks strutted in the snow, barely visible. Draco shook his head, yawning. "Thank you so much, you bloody caterwaulers!" he mumbled, and turned back to his bed that sang its siren song to him.

It was then there was a knock at his door, and, turning, he saw his father peeking in, lifting a brow. "Awake already?" the older Malfoy asked, sounded surprised.

Draco shrugged. "The peacocks," he mumbled, jerking his thumb toward the window, and yawned.

Lucius slipped in and shut the door behind him. He wore a dark morning robe and warm slippers on his feet; his hair was loose and hung like a blond curtain down his back. Draco smiled inwardly. It had been three years since his father had joined him in an early morning tête-a-tête. When he was younger, they often shared an early morning, sitting together and talking about things they both found interesting, but this habit had faded as Voldemort got stronger. Then his father was thrown into Azkaban after the battle in the Ministry. But it seemed Lucius was willing to resume the happy tradition between them. Draco felt the warm rush of good feeling.

"Be thankful that they only woke you now, son. They got me up half an hour ago. I think they don't like cold feet," the older Malfoy added with a smirk, seemingly at peace with himself and his surroundings.

Draco laughed, and indicated to one of the comfortable arm chairs which were part of a group at one of the three windows. "Who likes cold feet?" he quipped. While he slipped into his own robe, he glanced back at his father. "Is Mother still asleep?"

Sighing, the Malfoy patriarch smiled and settled down. "I will never understand how women can sleep in the middle of storm. When you were still a babe, the mildest cough from you was enough to waken her in the middle of the night. She'd waken me, too, to look in on you! And now she can sleep through _that_ racket." The birds outside _rawked_ and _eeked_ as if calling for their breakfast.

They both laughed, then Draco took the chair aside Lucius. "Why are you here this morning, Father?"

"Can't a father see his son?" came the expected reply, and – just as the older Malfoy knew would happen – the younger rolled his eyes. "You know me too well," Lucius sighed, reaching into his robe. "You asked me to research a special subject, and I think it preferable that your mother doesn't know of it. She still worries about everything, and I wouldn't want to give her another reason." He pulled a rolled parchment out, together with a small bound pad cracked with age. He glanced at the door and muttered a silencing charm, and another toward the window.

Frowning, Draco glanced at his father. "Is it … that serious?" he asked carefully.

Lucius snorted, flipping his hair behind his broad shoulder. "I cannot imagine why your Egyptian schoolmates think this is a game. But one thing is perfectly clear. If the Ministry ever learns that you are interested in this subject, we are all in trouble. They would draw certain false conclusions, but this here," he lifted the parchment and the book, "is ammunition enough to send us all to Azkaban."

Draco gulped; realizing the risk his father was taking to get this information. "Then … it's true that there was ... another wizard like Voldemort?"

His father winced when he heard the dreaded but now impotent name. Then he grimaced, handing his son the parchment and the small book. "Be very, very careful with it, Draco. Promise me that they _will not_ leave the house. Hide them with some shield charms. And please give them back to me as soon the minute you are finished with them. And, for mercy's sake, keep them out of sight of _everyone_."

"That dark?" the young man asked.

"As I said, if anyone at the Ministry learns that I've some of the old documents and artefacts they consider extremely dangerous…" He didn't finish his sentence, shaking his head. Of course, Draco understood. He carefully took the parchment and the book from his father, wondering at their contents.

Lucius cleared his throat. "If you study these closely, you'll see that there was indeed a wizard in Egypt around 1160 BC, living at the court of the pharaoh Ramses III. His name was Penhuibin. He learned his craft using the library of Thebes where the first known records of magic were written down, which we know today as the Dark Arts. He felt that Muggles or mudbl- I mean, Muggle-borns had no value." Draco's father's face looked gray, but he continued. "After the priests discovered this, they forbade him to train any longer. He was not allowed to use his talents. As a complot was formed against the pharaoh, the wizard was offered a part in the conspiracy. He found other sources of information. And he wasn't alone with his views. By the time he was found out and captured, he had his own society. After his execution it was led by his daughter. This association existed through the centuries, calling themselves _Mushāya'at Penhuibin_, which translates as 'the loyal fellows of Penhuibin' or something similar. They believed that he would overcome death and return – poppycock, if you ask me. No one can cheat death."

He leaned back in the armchair, watching the face of his son, knowing that Draco was hiding something. "The ancient Egyptians knew that there was an afterlife, the reason for the tradition of the mummies, but I can't believe that even the most powerful magic would be able to defeat death." He lifted a brow. "And now, son, tell me, what does this old story have to do with your Egyptians? And the real reason, Draco, not that lame fabrication you gave me."

Draco leaned forward and took a deep breath, rubbing his hands on the silk over his knees. He could not tell his father the whole truth. If he believed him, Lucius' reaction would be catastrophic. He knew his father well enough to imagine the scene of him storming the Ministry and Hogwarts, demanding that the danger the four and their teacher were presenting must be removed! And then Abdel, Neriman and the others would know that they'd been discovered and would be forced to act. If Penhuibin's followers were anything like the Death Eaters, then he didn't like to consider the consequences if they felt pressured. Additionally, he knew some of their powers, that they might be heightened by the higher beings slumbering inside them, thought by the ancients to be divinities. No, he couldn't tell his father the whole story – but perhaps enough to satisfy him.

"The four … they were with us during our visit to Hogsmeade, when Uncle Rabastan and the others attacked. They helped us by using spells we've never seen before, even binding two Death Eaters with a curse that wrapped them up completely, like mummies." He grinned at the picture Luna Lovegood gave when she explained this spell at his very first meeting with the DA. And Lucius, who could imagine it as well, chuckled with him. "After that, they asked us about the Death Eaters. They explained that there'd been a wizard in their country long ago who had followers like Rabastan and the others. They were impressed by how we fought the Death Eaters off before the Aurors came, but also told us that they had charms and spells that could outperform ours. This was a challenge we wouldn't turn down."

He sighed, continuing. "The first challenge they presented? They said could go past curfew without being caught by the portraits or the new wards at Hogwarts. But Granger and I, being Head-Students, can enter every dormitory, and a few members of the houses played along, telling us when the Egyptians left the dorms. They weren't caught by any of the wards, nor by any portrait, putting the occupants to sleep, but we found those dolls placed in their beds that I'd sketched for you."

Lucius nodded. "They deceived the wards by leaving the dolls in the bed, so they were not detected in the hallways. And they did it because a part of them is somehow ... attached ... to the dolls."

"Or the dolls are a sort of medium, tying the four souls with something else," Draco added. "You wrote that the signs on the dolls were used to form a bond."

Again Lucius nodded, lifting a brow. "Yes, in earlier times, when the Egyptians still believed in the old gods. But I can't believe that your schoolmates are using such an ancient form of magic." He shifted in the seat and stretched his legs. "So, you and the others solved their first riddle."

Draco smirked. "Of course. And then they challenged us to find out who the old wizard was whom Voldemort had imitated. They only gave us hints, that he lived a long time ago and killed one of the pharaohs. The library at Hogwarts is well stocked, yes, but they don't have books or documents about dark magic or wizards who lived three millennia ago, so I contacted you. After all, you found out about these dolls. I was sure you could find something that addressed the wizards of ancient Egypt for us."

For a long moment, Lucius simply looked deeply into his son's eyes, who returned the look without blinking. Sighing, the older Malfoy gave in and rubbed his forehead. "And which 'us' are you referring to?"

"Most of seventh years in all the houses," Draco told him, avoiding the truth by using a half-truth.

Frowning, his father folded his hands over his belly – a gesture his son had adopted from him.

"So, how did you find these documents? And who wrote them? I know I haven't seen this book in our library before now." Curiosity was welling up inside of him. "Or … have you finally found … you know … IT?"

"What? Have I found the Hidden Library of Borealis Malfoy?" Lucius started to laugh. "Son, do you really think I would be sitting here, like a bird in a golden cage, shut away in my own home, if I _had_ found that room?" He shook his head, still chuckling. "No. I stopped searching for it long before you were born. I don't want to end up obsessed and insane, chopping through walls to find something that possibly never existed, like your great great uncle Darvinius. Do you remember your grandfather, dressed as if on safari, strolling through the manor, searching for an entrance that is either lost for all time or was never built?"

Draco grinned broadly. "Yeah, I do remember. I was really small, but I will never forget the outfit, armour under his robes, striding through the dining room, a three hundred-year-old helmet on his head, wand at the ready, and a backpack full of parchments and quills to write detailed reports of his expedition right here in the house!"

Both laughed, enjoying the memory of Abraxas Malfoy and how he'd looked the day he started his tenth or eleventh 'expedition' to find the Hidden Library. "But," Draco pondered, "I do think it would help all of us if we could find it."

"You think so?"

"Oh yes. It would surely answer questions and riddles no one's able to solve until now, and it would provide a valuable insight of the times all those centuries ago."

Lucius shrugged. "If you want to search for it, Draco, be my guest. But don't get your hopes up. The story goes that the library in the first manor vanished around nine hundred years ago, when Borealis died, and no one's found it since then." Lucius leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I think it was well sealed and hidden, so that no strangers couldn't find it, and that it probably burned down later, when the first manor was attacked – before this one was built over the ruins."

Pursing his lips, Draco glanced out the windows. "But it would be so interesting…" He sighed, and glanced down on the materials on his lap. "And … these are valid?"

"If you don't believe your own ancestor, or the founder of your _House_, then I'm worried about you," Lucius commented dryly, and waited for his words to sink in.

Draco frowned – then he gasped and glanced in shock to his lap. "They … they're written _by Slytherin himself_?" His voice had risen about an octave and his father rolled his eyes.

"Thank the Maker for the silencing charm," he commented drolly, leaning back again in the chair.

His son didn't even acknowledge the jibe, but continued to look at the documents on his lap, mouth agape. "Which one is … This parchment is his, isn't it?" he whispered, holding it up almost reverently, and Lucius felt a smile tugging at his lips, seeing the awe on his son's face.

"Yes, it's the parchment. Slytherin met the father of Borealis during his travels through Europe, and the great man accompanied him back to England. It was there that the first United Council of Wizards and Witches were deciding that their children should be held to a common standard for using magic, and gave their permission to Slytherin, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff to build a school for them. The rest, as you know, is history. And concerning our ancestor, he remained here on the island, helped to build Hogwarts and started a family here. His wealth came not only from the resources of his family and their industry, but he was also generously remunerated for his services during the founding of Hogwarts. It was then he built the first manor, here, on this land. Later he sent his son, Borealis, to Hogwarts, who was sorted – of course – into Slytherin House. Salazar and our predecessors were friends, and after he left Hogwarts and returned years later, he spent some time in the first Malfoy Manor with Borealis. When he left, he was never seen again."

Draco let his fingertips wander over the rough surface of the parchment, obviously overwhelmed by this information. "I … I did know that our family had such a strong connection to Slytherin," he murmured "But that the founder of our family branch was friends with him, even helped to build Hogwarts, that his son spent the last days of Slytherin's life with him is all new to me."

Lucius chuckled. "I decided that information was better left until you were grown up. Telling a young boy that his ancestor had a hand in building the school he would attend and that the same ancestor befriended one of the founders would not have done you any good. I know how to use certain facts to our advantage, to pressure those who must know with whom they're dealing. A child would simply boast about it."

For a moment, Draco thought about being offended, then he sighed. "Yeah, maybe you're right."

"Of course I am right. I know you too well, son, and I do remember very well how you bragged about us getting a personal invitation and tickets from the Minister for the Quidditch World Championship when we met the litter of Weasley's, Potter and the Mud—Muggle-born girl at the stadium." He didn't see Draco flinch when he almost called Hermione by the slur. The elder Malfoy was looking at the book and the parchment. "Back to the documents. Be careful with them, Draco. The parchment is beyond any price and the same goes for the notepad. Borealis' grandson wrote it, reporting some of the stories his grandfather used to tell him about Slytherin when he was younger. Quite a bit of luck that he was so considerate. Most transcriptions or reports of Slytherin's travels are lost, like his home and his grave are."

With great care, Draco took the priceless documents. "Thank you, Father. You may be sure that I will guard it like gold."

"Better than gold! That little book is all that remains of the first generation of Malfoys in this country." He smiled at the look of veneration on Draco's face, and rose. "And now, to breakfast, Son. I think your mother might be up."

Smiling at Draco, he turned, removed the spells, and vanished out the door. But Draco was too dumbfounded to even move for several minutes. _What a Christmas surprise!_ And wouldn't be the last for him…

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Christmas Eve was full of the activities and preparations for the big day. Even Draco, who had his own house elf, found no time to read the precious documents his father loaned him. In the evening, the Weasleys enjoyed a delightful meal prepared by mother and daughter, the Grangers attended the candlelight service at church. During the anthem and chorus by the choir, a few of the more poignant chords suddenly reminded Hermione of her last Christmas, as she and Harry stood by the Potters' grave. This year the holy birthday was free of sorrows. And the Malfoys remained at home together, cold meats with fruit and a light wine, talking together until after midnight, each enjoying the presence of the other two by the Christmas tree illuminated by candles and fairies.

Christmas Day finally dawned. While Ron and Harry unwrapped their gifts (new knitted jumpers for all of them by Molly and service sets for their brooms), Ginny, George, Bill, Fleur, Arthur and Molly happily passed around the others. Hermione was dancing with joy in her parents' modest row house, ignoring the annoyed glare of her beloved pet. She was whooping because of the gift coupon for a visit to one of the West End theatres. ('Cats', 'Starlight Express' and 'Phantom of the Opera' were running. She had never seen any of them and dearly wanted to.) Her parents also gave her money for a driving school. Living in and out of the Muggle world, they all knew she would have to know how to drive a car.

While a certain Head-Girl danced around in her pink pyjamas, waving the coupon aloft, Draco pulled the comforter higher over his head, avoiding the morning. His thoughts drifted to a particular Muggle-born witch. When he closed his eyes, pulling the blanket over his face and hugging a pillow to his chest, he could almost imagine holding her in his arms or smelling her sweet combination of vanilla and apple shampoo and smooth skin. _Cripes_, he missed Hermione! After only three days! He'd never thought it possible.

For a long moment, he hovered in that delicious realm between waking and sleeping, those moments in which dream and reality melt together, but then the first noises of morning in the house nudged him the rest of the way to wakefulness. And when he heard the two peacocks down in the garden trumpeting as if their lives depended on it, he surrendered. Grumbling about the unfairness of the world, keeping him from the girl (and not even letting him sleep late on Christmas morning), Draco pushed away his blankets and rubbed his face. Then he remembered exactly what day it was, and leaned over the footboard of his bed. Several bright-coloured packages lay on the floor, but one caught his immediate attention. It was long. Curved. It almost looked like … like a broom.

A _broom_?

Not waiting another second, he flung himself onto the floor and tore the paper open, staring wide-eyed at the dark wood and the name of the broom, written in gold letters on the handle: _Firebolt_.

A Firebolt - the fastest broom of all! The very same broom Potter got somehow (Draco suspected McGonagall as the anonymous benefactor, after all she had perceptively nodded at the Wonder Boy as he unpacked his own Firebolt). This broom could fly faster than a hawk!

A loud whoop of celebration was heard all throughout the second level of the west wing of the mansion, causing the entire household to pause. Even the two house elves setting the table in the dining salon downstairs stopped for a moment and nodded, smiling to each other. In the sitting room in the master suite, his parents exchanged a satisfied look as laughter followed the initial outburst.

"I think he found it," was Lucius' dry comment, and Narcissa laughed aloud.

"I can't wait to see his face at breakfast!" she added, looking like an excited young girl. She loved to surprise her son.

That son stood in front of his bed in his pyjamas, gazing lovingly at the racing broom. Yes, the Nimbus was an excellent broom indeed, but the Firebolt was faster and more manoeuvrable, and he couldn't wait to test it.

A familiar 'crack' was heard and a female house elf appeared at his door. Pipsy had served the Malfoys for three years now, and had taken the young master of the house into her far-too-big heart, despite is usually rude behaviour. Somehow, the little thing saw through it, knowing that he was – down deep there somewhere – not a bad sort. She even pitied him when he became so sickly pale and silent during the last two years. When she saw him in his pyjamas, his hair tousled and his cheeks pink, holding his Christmas gift in his hands, she smiled up at him, and chirped, "Pipsy wishes Master Draco a very happy Christmas!"

"Thank you," Draco mumbled not unkindly. Then he deliberately turned his attention toward the small creature, wearing the two kitchen towels as a kind of dress. He saw the large eyes shining with hope and good feeling. He was instantly reminded at Hermione and her fondness for the elves. He had to admit that they could be … cute-

There! That word again! It had not been part of his vocabulary before this year. Cute. Something else his little Gryffindor had taught him. Sighing, he smiled at Pipsy, whose face changed to one of astonishment at this kind expression. He turned away, his eyes prickling. Did the house elves really value such a simple gesture as a smile as if it were the greatest gift possible? What else had he missed, following that madman? Clearing his throat, he turned to face the helpful sprite. "Are my parents up?"

"Yes, young Master. And the noble Lady ordered Pipsy to tell the young Master that there will be a surprise at breakfast."

Draco was taken aback. "Another?" Now very curious, he headed for his bathroom, noticed the broom in his hand. He almost took it with him, but decided that it would really look strange if a young man his age took his new toy with him into the bathroom. Instead, he placed it carefully on the bed, as if made of glass. "Lay out my clothes, Pipsy. Black trousers, the gray pullover and the velvet jacket."

The house elf bowed deeply. "As you wish, Master Draco!"

He paused again and glanced over his shoulder. "And Pipsy? Happy Christmas to you and the others!" With those most unusual words, he closed the bathroom door, leaving the house elf with her mouth agape in surprise.

Pipsy watched the young wizard vanishing in his bathroom and sighed. Something had happened to the young Master. She could tell he was happy. And not just because of the new broom. She thought she knew the real reason for it. As he returned yesterday from his own shopping trip and she brought the things he bought into his room, he pulled out a small gift box from his pocket and put it in the drawer of his nightstand, smiling tenderly at it. Pipsy had her own experiences with humans. And she guessed why the young Master was in such a merry mood and why warmth was suddenly radiated off him like the flames of an open fireplace. Giggling, she knew that the boy-man she had grown fond of had found someone he could love.

Humming a song, she hopped to the large antique mahogany wardrobe, and picked out the clothes he required. Now whistling, she laid them on the bed, snapped her fingers to straighten the folds, and then paused. Because even the rush of the water couldn't drown out the sound of the young man _singing_.

Half an hour later, well-groomed and clad, Draco descended the stairs to the family rooms, and into the small salon his mother was so fond of. It had become a kind of family room for his parents, who – as he had noticed – avoided the large dining room. You had to cross it whenever you were going to the main floor of the manor, but the Malfoys lived in the private area, and Draco liked it that way. Too many bad memories lingered in the large formal dining room, and he was glad that his parents seemed to feel the same.

He walked down the long hallway that led past the library and to three other rooms. He heard his parents conversing with another woman. Draco moved closer, his footsteps making soft echoes, while several portraits looked warily at him. He had almost reached the salon when the door opened and his mother came out smiling. "There you are, darling! Happy Christmas! Sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you, Mother," he replied, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. "And thank you so much for the Firebolt!"

Narcissa chuckled. "It was your father's idea. He knew how much you wanted one."

Laughter came from the salon next door, Lucius and a woman, and Draco lifted a brow. "We have already guests?"

A sudden mirth danced in Narcissa's eyes. "Yes, but don't fret. You're perfectly dressed for this event," she added as she noticed him quickly check his clothes. She took his arm and walked him into the salon.

At first he saw a woman, around his mother's age, wearing an expensive robe made of a deep golden velvet and silk, over an extraordinary dark green dress. It complimented her olive skin perfectly. Her face was a beauty he'd seen all over the purebloods, hooded eyes and full lips. Her curly hair was pulled into a heavy knot at her neck. Golden earrings, a thick Roman necklace and a ring with a diamond of the size of a thumb nail contrasted sharply with her dark skin.

She turned as Narcissa and Draco entered, smiling broadly at the young wizard. His eyes grew large as he recognized her. But before he could say anything, the second visitor stepped from behind Lucius, taller than the manor's master by an inch, and greeting the Slytherin-Prince with a large grin. White teeth glowed in an ebony face, showing large eyes, high cheekbones and a straight nose.

Draco couldn't believe his eyes – or his ears, as a very familiar voice said, "Hello, mate!"

The Head-Boy of Hogwarts started to laugh. With long strides, he approached the other young man, grinning from ear to ear. "_Blaise_!"

TBC…

_Yeah, I promised you several surprises and I do hope I haven't disappointed you. Yes, Blaise has just popped into the story and even if his part is going to be not so big, his appearance will be quite important for everyone._

_In the next chapter there will be more of the two Slytherin-Friends, news from the Egyptians (which are still in Hogwarts), Hermione will get the chance to build contact to someone, who could help solve some more riddles, and Draco is going to do some more research, what brings him to…_

_Well, you have to wait._

_Please, please, leave some reviews again (I'm starving to learn about your thoughts and reactions),_

_Have a nice weekend,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	47. Friends

_Hallo my dear Readers!_

_Thank you so very much for the many reviews and the nice words. I'm glad that you liked the last chapter, and I can tell you that there waits a surprise for you in the last part of the new one._

_Therefore no more words, off to England!_

_Love you all,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 46 – Friends**

Two hours later, after a lingering over a meticulously prepared breakfast, the two friends sat in Draco's private room, talking. The curtains around the bed were tied back to allow the light from the windows all over the room, the new Firebolt leaned against the tall rolltop. The fire danced in the fireplace, and the sun shone brightly through the windows, creating a fairyland of diamonds in the snow.

Draco and Blaise hadn't seen each other since the Battle of Hogwarts, so there was much to relate. It turned out that Blaise and his mother were granted a pardon from the Ministry.

Mrs. Cariba Zabini – the name was a prophecy for her whole life, after all it meant 'strong woman.' Or cannibal. And all seven husbands died under mysterious circumstances. She'd never been a sworn Death Eater, merely casually aligning with Voldemort's viewpoint. She'd never joined any of his raids or attacks on Muggle-borns or Muggles. And Blaise testified that he only had defended himself during the Battle of Hogwarts. This was confirmed by several other students, and he was allowed to return home with his mother.

"So, do you want to move back to England?" Draco asked, offering his friend a glass of orange juice with a finger of champagne. Yes, such a reunion had to be celebrated.

Blaise shook his head. "Mother will keep the mansion in Oxfordshire and the flat by the sea, but she wants to sell everything else. We are quite comfortable in Italy; after all, Mother lived there as child, and met and married my father there." He smirked. "And the weather is certainly more amenable." He gestured towards the window. "As you know, I always liked snow. But a warm sea at your doorstep and a temperature that never sinks beneath balmy are things you can get used to."

Laughing, Draco nodded. "And how is school there?"

His friend shrugged. "Incantovervé is not comparable to Hogwarts, even if it is housed in a castillo, as is Hogwarts. The people there are different. You've heard that the Italians are famous for their temper." He grinned suddenly. "It was named accordingly. It translates to 'enchanted fire,' referring to the freedom given their emotions." He sipped his drink. "And how are the things at Hogwarts? Heard you'd been made _Head Boy_?"

"Amazingly, yes!" Draco leaned back and folded his hands over his belt, stretching his long legs and crossing his ankles – unconsciously mirroring his father. "Old Dumbledore and McGonagall thought that was one way to prove to the rest of the world that I'm not a devil." He smiled. "It turned out to be one of the best things that ever happened to me …" His gaze was lost out the window as the face of Hermione came up before him, wearing her Head badge during patrol and joking with him. Only two full days apart and he already missed his sweet little minx deeply.

Blaise was watching him. He'd known Draco for more than fifteen years now. They had played together often as children when their parents met. And later, at school, they could often be found together. True, Blaise had not accompanied Draco and his mates on their nasty little escapades, but nevertheless they had been friends, even best mates. It was easy for him to tell that Draco had changed – a lot! He was more at peace with himself and his surroundings, there was a tranquillity in him that was plainly written on his features, and there was a glow in his eyes Blaise had never seen before. He thought that the reason had to be a girl, but he knew his friend good enough not to address the topic straight away, but to give him time until he came around to the subject, speaking of it on his own.

"And who is Head Girl?" he asked, placing his glass back on the table.

"Three guesses, and the last two don't count," Draco smirked and Blaise rolled his eyes.

"If she returned to school to finish her education, then it has to be Granger."

"And five points to the new bloke at Incantovervé!" Draco laughed.

"And you said being Head Boy is the best that ever happened to you?" Zabini shook his head. "I thought that the Head-Students had to share a living area. How can you stand her all the time?"

"Oh, it was difficult at first, but then…" wriggling his eyebrows, the Slytherin Prince grinned, "the famous Malfoy charm even wore down Hermione." Laughing he watched his friend snorting in disbelief, then he turned serious again. "No, we get along, especially since I saved her life and she saved mine." Blaise's jaw dropped. Draco took a deep breath. "It's a long story, so…"

"Plenty of time until lunch, so you can put a large dent in it. I've noticed that you're not complaining about having the Gryffindor Know-It-All around, and you're calling her 'Hermione' instead of Mud-"

"Don't, Blaise!" Draco's voice was stern, humor gone from his eyes, then he relaxed, seeing the stunned expression on the other. He sighed, wondering if he should tell the whole story. Then he came to a decision. Over the next hour, he explained what happened in the Forbidden Forest, and later at the shores of the Black Lake and in Hogsmeade. Draco also related the strange events in Hogwarts, avoiding certain details, like how he'd joined the D.A., that their guest students were hosts to ancient Egyptian gods, or that he was attacked by one of them. And, of course, he didn't mention to Blaise that the he and the other Head were, ah, well, a couple now.

Blaise listened wide-eyed, only interrupting to ask for clarification. When Draco finished, he snorted and shook his head. "And I thought everything would be back to normal by now. But it seems that you're taking another wild ride."

Draco shrugged. "Nothing's settled. I'm certain you noticed all the additional wards as you and your mother entered the manor."

"Yeah, you have more security here than Gringotts – well, almost," he added with a smirk. "What do you know about that Potter-escapade, that he and he friends broke into Gringotts and rode the dragon out? Is it true?"

Draco sneered, "Of course it's true. They had to do it to defeat Voldemort." He'd heard the story from Hermione, and didn't want to pursue it any further. The look on his face told his friend as much.

Blaise assumed Draco was sick of the attention that the Wonder-Boy had gotten, and turned serious again. "In Italy, news has reached us that several Death Eaters are free and threatening certain families, among them you and your parents. But I didn't hear about the attack on Hogwarts or the manor. Our paper reported that some of them had done violence in Hogsmeade during the students' trip there, that your own relative tried to kill you…" he paused, "and that Granger shoved you aside and blocked the curse?"

"Yeah. She's a wildcat. Very skilful. Saved me there in that narrow street. Without her help, I wouldn't have known what hit me. And later, when Greyback got her, I was able to repay the debt ... sort of." He smiled without noticing it.

Again his friend lifted a brow. Something was definitely ... different ... about Draco. "You seem to be quite happy," he murmured, and met Draco's smiling eyes.

Draco cocked his head. "Hey, it's Christmas, my best friend returns from abroad to visit me and is, amazingly enough, _pardoned_, I got a Firebolt, well!" he shrugged. "What more would it take to make a bloke happy?"

Pursing his lips, Blaise took a moment to observe him closely, then replied, "A girl."

For a long moment Draco only stared at him, then spluttered, "_W__hat_?"

Smirking like a cat getting the cream, Blaise shifted comfortably in his armchair and repeated, "A girl. You, Draco Malfoy, are in love."

If not for the pink that instantly crept into the usually pale face of his friend, Zabini might have believed the instant denial. "Me? In love? Are you off your trolley? Of course not! Not now, nor in the near future!"

Chuckling, his friend wouldn't be taken in. "Drake, I know you ... how long? Fifteen years? And I saw you when you had a crush on a girl. Or when you just wanted one. The gleam in your eyes is different now. Happier." He slowly shook his head. "You've been caught. You may not have confronted your feelings for her until now, but she has caught you good." He snickered, seeing his friend's blush deepen. He took a deep breath. "Who is it?" Draco just shook his head. Blaise lifted a brow. "Someone I know?"

Almost groaning, the young Malfoy realized that denial would do him no good. If there was someone who knew him almost as well as his parents – and in some ways better – then it was Blaise Zabini. The dark wizard was more sensible than the most gave him credit for, and he had a kind of sixth sense when it came to Draco. So there was no escape. If Blaise realized something and wanted to know about it, he would get it. "Yes, you know her. No, I don't want to talk about it. And no, my parents don't have the slightest clue. Alright?"

For a long moment his friend watched him, then began to laugh. "I'm glad that I'm in Italy now. You and your secrets! Haven't you learned yet that they will come out one way or the other, however carefully you try to protect them?"

"Tell me something I don't know," Malfoy mumbled

His friend grinned. "As you wish. You will have to endure me until the 27th of December. We will be here for two nights."

"And how will I survive such hardship?" Draco's eyes lit up – and a moment later both young wizards were laughing again.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Hermione was working the meat off the many bones in her turkey leg with her fork. Beside her, Mrs. Betsy Barclay, one of the new neighbours who lived beside the Granger-house, giggled hysterically, while her husband Alfred was chuckling. Jean Granger was finishing her story about a certain patient: "And three days later he returned, with a cheek swollen out to here, and the tooth had to be removed without that the novocaine this time, because the entire gum around it was infected."

"Such a fool – and this all because he was afraid of a little injection," George Granger added.

"I can imagine the man running off like the devil was after him, still having the white bib pinned around his neck and you, Jean, racing after him," Betsy laughed, wiping her eyes.

"I would think twice if before choosing the same career as your parents here, Hermione," Alfred addressed the young woman, and she sighed.

"I'm thinking of something in law or government," she answered airily, obscuring the truth about her real choice of career. Working in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was similar to being a lawyer in the Muggle world, helping those who are oppressed to gain their rights.

"That sounds like an excellent choice," Alfred nodded.

"The young people of today have such marvellous ideas for careers," Betsy agreed. "My daughter, for example, studies cultural history and a friend of hers majors in archaeology at Oxford. She hopes to join some excavations in Mexico or Egypt later on."

Hermione forgot about the turkey leg. "In Egypt?"

Mrs. Barclay nodded, a wide smile on her round face, while her short grey curls bounced. "Yes. She has a strong interest in the old cultures, and is very lucky to have an internship in the British Museum at the moment. Sue, my daughter, told me that her friend Angela is head over heels to have this chance to get some practice." She saw the eager look on the young woman's face and suggested: "Sue is around your age. She'll be home this evening for dinner. Perhaps you two can meet tomorrow."

Hermione grinned and nodded enthusiastically. If she met Sue, then got Angela's contact information, she might get a lot of information first hand – and certainly more than the internet had to offer. "That would be wonderful, Mrs. Barclay," she answered, beaming at the older woman.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Christmas passed far too quickly – as usual. Draco found no time to study the documents with Blaise around. Christmas evening, the 'small' party lasted until the wee hours, and the two friends fell into their beds like stones. The next day was quiet, several of the wizards nursing their hangovers, Narcissa, Cariba and three other witches enjoying the still sunny weather and the snow in the gardens, and a decent cup of afternoon tea. In another salon, the men were talking about politics and, of course, Quidditch! Draco and Blaise tried out the new Firebolt, but remained inside the wards of the manor. No one could tell if or when Lestrange and the others would show up again.

Hermione met Sue on the 26th, and they promptly became good friends. Waving off Sue's questions about her school, remarking that she attended a small school in Scotland, she buttonholed the Muggle-girl, peppering her with questions about hers and Angela's studies, skilfully sidestepping questions she couldn't answer. She soon knew that Angela was working at the Egyptian exhibition of the British Museum, was very attached to her professor, that he was an older gentleman who had a part in the discovery and study of some newly discovered graves around Thebes, and that Angela was one of the best students in her class. In other words: Angela was exactly the person she needed. Sue promised Hermione that she would ask her friend if she would have time to meet Hermione at the British Museum over the holidays, and the young witch whooped inwardly with joy. If only she could tell Harry and Ron – or Draco! _'__Next time I'm in Diagon Alley, I'm getting an owl!'_ Being cut off from her friends like this was not going to happen again!

The next day she spent on the internet again, expanding her research in different directions. Everything that was linked, or looked like it might have a part in this riddle, was run down. She fell down a couple of rabbit holes, but she was soon on back on the trail of other clues. With the help of the Muggles' discoveries and their painstaking reports, she found connections she hadn't considered before. Late that afternoon, when her mother finally shooed her out of her room to help her with the dinner, Hermione was in a daze. _Sweet mercy, there was more to this than she'd ever thought possible!_

She went to bed early, wondering how she could contact her friends. She doubted that Harry – or Ron – would send an owl from Ireland. After all, the bird could be watched and the Weasleys' hideout would be endangered. That meant that she wouldn't be able to send the owl back with the latest discoveries, and Hermione was burning to tell them. Her parents weren't tied to the floo network, so she had no way to contact Draco, and she didn't dare to go to the Ministry and asked one of the Aurors to take her to the Weasleys or back to Hogwarts. She couldn't risk that kind of suspicion.

'_I'll buy them all cell phones, and give them fully loaded batteries when we leave for Easter holidays! This is the end of the twentieth century, for God's sake, not the middle ages! They're going to learn how to use that 'wonder machine', I swear, if it takes me weeks to teach them!'_

Still grumbling about being separated like this from her friends, and fighting the growing yearning for a certain silver blond Slytherin she fell asleep, one arm wrapped around a purring Crookshanks, wishing with all her heart it was Draco…

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

"How long will you be staying in Britain?"

Draco watched Blaise, who straightened his travel robes. It was late afternoon on the 27th, and the time to part had come. The trunks had already been shrunk and stood beside the open fireplace in the entrance hall. Two strange house elves were busy pulling them to the green flames, giving fearful glances to Cariba Zabini and her son.

"Until the second of January, when school starts," Blaise answered quietly. Behind them, the older Malfoys were bidding Mrs. Zabini farewell. "I would love to come back for New Year's Eve, but Mom already accepted an invitation in Portsmouth and she checked me into the hotel, too." He sighed, putting his hands in his pockets. For a moment both were silent, then Cariba's voice interrupted them:

"Come on, boys, this is only a brief parting, not the final farewell. So, let's get on with it!" She turned one last time to Mrs. Malfoy, embracing her. "Narcissa, thank you once again for a formidable feast!" Narcissa and Cariba stepped away from each other. "We are keeping in touch!" the guest said, and Narcissa nodded.

"Of course we will."

Blaise lifted a brow, addressing his friend. "I gave you the address of the hotel where we're staying?"

"Yes, _and_ your new home in Italy _and_ the one for your school," Draco wagged. Blaise laughed. Then they shook hands, clapped each other's shoulder, and Blaise strolled towards his mother and the fireplace. Just before he took the floo powder, he turned around one last time: "And Draco? Win the house cup for Slytherin again. It's your last year at Hogwarts and we have to defeat these Gryffin-dorks one last time!"

The Head Boy of Hogwarts laughed out and waved at him. "I will. After all, I now have a Firebolt, too!"

Blaise lifted one fist in victory. "Yes. And you are a better flyer than Potter."

This Draco wasn't so sure of. The manoeuvre 'Wonder-Boy' flew in the burning Room of Requirements and only a month ago during the Quidditch game had been unbelievable. But he had one advantage over Potter. "And his broom is older!" Draco called.

His friend smiled and waved, then took the floo powder and stepped into the flames. "Blue Mermaid, Portsmouth!" he called and vanished within the green flames, followed by the two house elves.

Then Mrs. Zabini kissed Lucius one last time on the cheek and stepped into the fireplace, too, repeating the actions. Seconds later, the three Malfoys were alone again, and Draco sighed deeply. "Bye, Blaise," he mumbled, then shrugged when he caught the glances of his parents and returned to his room. The best distraction after parting from his best friend – again – and from his little wild kitten, too, would be the documents in his room.

He only interrupted his reading to grab a bowl of crab salad, and then he returned to his room and became engrossed with the documents again until well after midnight. The parchment was composed in Ancient Runes. In addition, he had great difficulty deciphering the handwriting of Salazar Slytherin. _'__Beggar all, did that man use any common runes at all?'_ And the small book, written by the grandson of his ancestor Borealis, had its own idiosyncrasies. Borealis had used runes, too, but – among them – he had written several sentences using Roman letters with grammar and spellings that gave Draco a headache. _'__What language were they _using_ back then?'_

He slept longer the next day and his parents left him alone. His eyes were red when he finally awoke, having read so long by candlelight, but as soon as he'd had a bit of breakfast, he went to the library to do some more research on a topic he'd found studying the old documents, wondering if Hermione's mania for books could be contagious. He'd learned more information from the words written down all those centuries ago than he'd ever thought possible. He not only learned more of the dolls, or manikins, and their uses – his father had given him a rough summary of their power and uses – but also he learned more details about the society of the ancient wizard called Penhuibin.

And then, as he compared known information of the dark magic Voldemort used with the description on the last pages of the old writing pad, the truth of it hit him with a force, and made him gasp. Now a haggard shade of white, Draco looked up from the books now surrounding him, trying to sort out what he' just learned.

The modelled figures of Hogwarts' Egyptian students, their ancient ability of sharing a soul, the old magic that permitted this, the description of why Penhuibin's fellows thought their master could rise again … these all were precursors of something Slytherin's descendant would use almost three thousand years later to ensure a kind of immortality. This was how a Horcrux worked, only more … primitive. And it might have worked even then, all those years ago. Perhaps this was also the reason for ancient Egypt's belief in the afterlife or the rebirth.

The key to this riddle lay in the old traditions, teachings, and legends of the people of the Nile; in their cult of death, their strong beliefs, their gods …

And he had no chance to learn more of what had been developed from the old religion, because his family's library only held books and documents concerning magic, not old Muggle records of their beliefs …

_Muggles…_

_Hermione!_

Hermione and that ... that _net_ her mother got so much information from!

And the only chance he would have to do proper research on that bloody Muggle technology was right now, while they were away from Hogwarts …

The next moment, he hid the notepad and the parchment in the secret drawer of the small desk at the right wall and sealed it with several charms, before he left the library, not caring that dozens of books still were still open on the reading tables and the sofas. He practically ran to his room, and tore out a thick, warm coat from the wardrobe. One quick look in the mirror confirmed that his clothes wouldn't attract too much attention by Muggles. As many as he had seen, he remembered that the men wore suits much like his, too, also that kind of jumper. Yes, his coat fell below his knees, but it wasn't that different.

Then he hesitated. Damn, he didn't know where Hermione lived! Otherwise he could fly nearby and apparate to her, but without having the slightest clue what the house looked like or the address, apparating was out of question. All he knew was that the Grangers lived somewhere in London, but where exactly? He bit his lips. Hermione's parents were healers – for teeth. (Muggles were and would always be odd! A healer for teeth, how bizarre!) And they didn't work on a hospital, but had a 'private practice'. And, if he remembered correctly, she mentioned one time that their new home was somewhere in the north of London.

This had to be enough information to search for them, he decided. How difficult could it be to find a married healer couple who both took care of teeth?

Scribbling down a short note for his parents and leaving it on his bed, he took his Firebolt, opened the window and cast an illusion charm around him. A moment later he was in the air, heading for London. With the speed of this particular broom, he would make it in an hour or a little more. And if things went as planned, he would be back for the afternoon tea – after he saw his Hermione again, and shared their information with each other.

Simple, right? What could go wrong?

Aron El Hadary rose slowly. From time to time he could feel his age, especially when the weather was cold and wet, like the last two hours. He had visited Europe before and he had Great Britain several times, but never during winter. He wasn't used to such these temperatures, nor traversing in snow. Snow felt nothing like sand, no matter what they said, and snow was much harder to walk in and – again – it was so bitter cold!

Sighing he looked back at Akay Abdelghani, standing behind him, wandtip glowing. The glow illuminated an open earthenware urn and a roll that held a papyrus. "What do you think?" he asked in his mother tongue, and the old wizard sighed.

"The artefacts are the originals – the papyrus as well as the urn. And I confirm that the earthenware comes from the 24th dynasty, and is therefore quite valuable. But I can't believe that the urn with Penhuibin's ashes is really lost. This here," he pointed at the empty one at his feet, "is from the Ramses period. The Muggles were correct in assigning it as such, but the only one in Ramses III tomb? I can't believe that."

Abdelghani frowned. "Neither the museum in Florence, nor in Paris nor Berlin gave a clue about the urn that is so important to us." He sat down and rubbed his face. "The Romans plundered the tombs of the pharaohs, this much we knew."

"And maybe the _Maa'Penhuibin_ saved the urn from the Romans or they were able to follow it over and over again. We have reliable indications that their circle is more active than they had been in years." El Hadary waved his hand and the urn and the papyrus flew gently back into the earthenware that sealed itself after another gesture of the old Egyptian magician.

"The knife with Penhuibin's Ba," Abdelghani said slowly. "It vanished thousands of years ago, and we know that Salazar Slytherin took it with him, and the knowledge of his grave's location has been lost. Not even Hogwarts' library has the answer to the burial site of one of its four founders, or where his home was. But still I have a strong feeling that the _Maa'Penhuibin_ is about to retrieve it!"

The weathered face of El Hadary darkened. "I know what you mean. I have an itching in my belly that I could always depend to warn me when a threat was near. I am certain that we will hear more of it." He shook his head in frustration. "Over the last two months, we got several messages that wizards and witches we suspect of being members of the _Maa'Penhuibin_ are preparing for a long journey. And we perceived magical activity in Nubet, near the old temple of Seth." He shook his head. "The time Penhuibin predicted for his rebirth approaches mercilessly, day by day. And we are still feeling around in the dark as to whether the _Maa'Penhuibin_ hid the urn, or if the knife with his Ba is really hidden on this island somewhere, or already in their hands."

He turned to go back towards the entrance of the dark cave that Abdelghani found several weeks back, where Layla had hidden the stolen artefacts.

"Master, what of these artefacts?"

El Hadary paused at the mouth of the cave, the wind tore at his robes and he had to hold onto his warm hat. "They belong to our country. But I think it would cause an open quarrel between the Muggles of Egypt and the other countries if stolen items suddenly appear in Cairo. I will take them with me like the others you took in France, Italy and Germany, and I will keep them safe, until the danger of Penhuibin has passed. Afterwards I will give them to Shacklebolt and the other Ministers of Magic. They will have to decide how to return them to the Muggles." Abdelghani nodded and followed his old mentor and teacher, praying that they hadn't overlooked something.

But they had.

They would have noticed this if they had read the Muggle report shortly after the raid on the British Museum. Then they might have realized that more artefacts, like the ones Layla gave them, had been stolen. And if they had, they would have drawn the right conclusions.

But none of them had read the Times or other Muggle newspapers, and therefore Layla's cabal was still safe with her.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Dr. Jean Granger rose from her desk as the wall clock struck three, and glanced one last time at the papers. Inland revenue reports were always miserable work at the end of the year, and she was glad that she and her husband had such skillful accountants working for them; three young women who knew their job. But now, as the practice was closed between Christmas and New Years, those three had taken a holiday, and Jean used the time to take a closer look at the accounts and the paperwork, which seemed to multiply from month to month.

Leaving her office near the surgery, she crossed the reception room and entered their home, smiling as she smelled fresh tea. So, Hermione had already made a pot. Jean was about to walk into the kitchen when the doorbell rang. She paused. There were two possibilities: either one of the neighbors stopped by, or it was an emergency – one of their patients with a lost filling. _'__Or a broken tooth from one of those miserable fruitcakes great aunts liked to send_._'_ Pushing a rebellious strand behind her ear, she headed for the door and opened it, looking up into the grey eyes of a tall young man. The next thing she noted was a shock of platinum blond hair, then that he was clad all in black.

"How may I help you?" she asked politely, thinking that possibly he was looking for a neighbor's address, or hoped for emergency treatment for a painful tooth, but his answer was nothing she had expected:

"I apologize for disturbing you, Ma'am but, your indulgence, please. Are you … Mrs. Granger, the mother of Hermione Granger?"

Eyebrows raised, she looked closer at the young man who spoke in an uncommonly refined fashion. She knew instantly that he was not their usual visitor. "Yes," she answered slowly. "My daughter is named Hermione." _'__Could he be a wizard?'_ She thought she'd seen him before. She was almost sure, but couldn't put her finger on when or where.

The young man sighed in relief, and his next words confirmed her suspicions: "Thank Merlin, finally!" He smiled. "I know I've come unexpectedly, Ma'am, but I have to speak with Hermione on an urgent matter. Is she home?"

Only one brow up now, Jean eyed the young visitor. "And who wants to know?" she asked, feeling amusement rising, as the stranger stared for a moment, then gulped and offered her his pale hand. The young aristocrat was actually blushing! "I apologize again, Ma'am, where are my manners? Draco Malfoy, at your service. I… I'm a student at Hogwarts. I attend with Hermione."

So, this was the famous (or infamous) Draco Malfoy! The boy who had taunted and tormented her daughter, and for whom Hermione seemed to have fallen, bushel-over-briscuit? And then she remembered where she'd seen him before – Diagon Alley, in the book shop a few years back. He had been there with his father, mocking Hermione and her two friends, when an older blonde wizard and Mr. Weasley tried to start a fight. But where once stood a small, mean-spirited, sneering boy, now a young grown-up stood; polite, surprisingly handsome, and somewhat shy, being confronted by a world that was not his own. And then she saw it, too – the changes Hermione had spoken of. Whatever the boy had done in his past, possibly instigated by his family, had disappeared from his face. The clear, hopeful and almost melancholy eyes could not belong to an evil character.

Smiling, Jean took his hand in hers, hiding her surprise at the strong grip. "I've heard much about you, Mr. Malfoy, and lately, only good things." She pulled him into the house and closed the door against the cold.

Now even his ears blushed, and then he did something Mrs. Granger hadn't expected at all. He bent over her hand, and breathed a kiss onto it. "Thank you, Mrs. Granger." Then he straightened and cleared his throat. "Is Hermione…?"

"She is in her room. Please, come in, Mr. Malfoy!" She retreated through the enclosed entranceway and the young wizard carefully stepped into the house, looking warily around. _What was he expecting, a monster attack? _Then she reminded herself that this tall boy came from a completely different world, one in which the discoveries and traditions of non-magical people were utterly foreign. And she remembered the first day, when she set foot into Diagon Alley witnessed for the first time true magic. She had been fascinated, but also afraid, and she was certain that he was feeling very much the same.

She gestured toward the stair leading to the first level. Three other doors in the entrance area were slightly ajar. The fragrant smell of fresh tea lingered, and with growing curiosity, Draco took in his surroundings, surprised to see that the doors and their frames were white – something unknown in the wizardry world. Two large area rugs covered flagstone floor – not so large and valuable as his parents', but still expensive. Several pictures hung on the walls (they did not move), and left of the door he had entered stood a wardrobe with two coats. One of them he recognized immediately as Hermione's. Everything was very clean and neat, certainly not dirty or filthy, as he had been told over and over.

Astonished, he looked closely at the electric lamp above him. This was something he had never seen before, made of metal and glass, and the 'candles'… well, they weren't candles but were brilliant nevertheless. The light didn't move like the flames he knew. And when Mrs. Granger tapped on a shining rectangle on the wall at the staircase, another light flared on the landing above them. Draco knew that Muggles could not use magic, didn't even believe in it anymore, but this! This was close to magic! He was sure of it.

With new amusement Jean, watched the careful, bewildered expression on the visitor's face. Obviously, he had even less experience with the so-called 'Muggle world' than the Weasleys. "Please follow me," she said kindly and was about to start up the stairs when she stopped and frowned.

A second later Draco knew, why. A ginger-haired storm flew down the stairs, stopped on the last step and glared with large yellow eyes at the Slytherin-Prince. Crooks sashayed over to Draco with tail raised and a very warm _meow_, leaning heavily against the boy's leg purring like a diesel engine.

Taken by surprise, Draco looked down at the half-Kneazle, then he bent in two to stroke the fluffy fur. "Hey, you mini-monster, that's a very nice welcome." Crooks looked up to him and meowed again, his usual sour face seemed to smile at the young wizard.

Jean only looked and laughed with amazement. "Would you look at that! George has tried to cuddle him for years now with no success."

Draco straightened, and offered the woman (who looked eversomuch like the girl he loved) a grin. "I only got at first scratches, but then…" He shrugged and pushed Crookshanks gently away, murmuring: "Go away, you wanna-be lion, let me pass."

As if the beast had understood him, he sat back and watched the young man, of whom his mistress was so fond.

Jean preceded him up the stairs. Draco felt his heart quickening as it fully hit him where he was: in the house of Muggles! In Hermione's home! She was here! His nose caught the hint of her perfume and as Mrs. Granger raised her hand to knock on the door, nervousness and warmth flooded the Slytherin's limbs and mind. He would see her again! Merlin, Blaise was right! The Golden Girl of Gryffindor had captured him – completely.

"Hermione, dear? You have a visitor," Jean said as she entered the room and then Draco's breath caught when he saw the familiar brown mane.

The sweet voice he'd missed so much asked, "Who?"

TBC…

_Yeah, it is so mean to end this chapter here and now, I know. And I'm certain that you're dying to read more (laugh, that was my intention)._

_I do hope you liked this chapter and that I didn't promise too much as I warned you about a special surprise. Draco Malfoy in the Muggle-world. And he will not forget this 'trip' soon, be sure of it._

_Please let me know what you think of this new twist in the story. I'm sooooo curious._

_Until next week,_

_Love you all,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	48. Reunion

_Hallo, my dear Readers,_

_Thank you so very much for the last reviews and comments. I'm absolutely happy that you all enjoy the story so far. And I am certain that you are all curious what happens in London now, after Draco showed up at Hermione's home. Well, let us say that the poor guy is a little bit out of place there (laugh)._

_Enjoy the next part,_

_Have a nice Sunday,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 47 – Reunion**

Hermione had been surfing the internet again, scribbling down notes and more notes, picking out what could be hints or details in the objects of her research. She hadn't even heard the doorbell ring, or noticed that Crookshanks suddenly pranced out of the room. When she heard her mother's voice at her door, she turned, thinking that possibly Sue was stopping by. But the person on the threshold was the very last person she expected. Mouth open, she could only gaze at the tall figure in black, while the very familiar smirk appeared on that face she'd missed so very much.

"Hello, Kitten!"

It was a very long second before Hermione could get it straight in her head that _Draco Malfoy_ was standing at her door. Of her room. In a Muggle house. Deep in the Muggle world! And when she heard him chuckling, "I'm used to making people speechless, but even you?" her bewilderment disappeared.

"Draco!" She leaped from her seat and ran to him, throwing both arms around him. She sighed happily as he pulled her into a warm hug. She closed her eyes and buried her face in the fabric of his winter coat; feeling whole for the first time in days. Holding each other, both still amazed by the miracle of his presence here, they felt as if two halves had finally become whole.

Jean watched the reunion of her daughter and the young man, and smiled. It was obvious that not only Hermione had fallen for him, but the affection was reciprocated. Clearing her throat, as the two made no move to release each other, they almost jumped apart – both with the sense to look self-conscious. "I'm glad that you got such a nice partner as Head-Boy, Hermione." She glanced at Draco. "Would you care for a cup of tea, Mr. Malfoy? It's a bit chill outside, and you look as if you could use some."

Feeling more at ease now, with a familiar person beside him, Draco nodded politely. "Please don't inconvenience yourself, Ma'am."

"Oh, it's no trouble at all, Mr. Malfoy. In this house, tea is always ready. Hermione, do you want some, too?"

Her daughter beamed. "That would be perfect, Mom. I'll come with you to fetch it."

Her mother shook her head. "Mione, please, you have a visitor. I'll bring the tea up to you both, alright?" Nodding once again at the two young people, she vanished, leaving the door ajar.

Hermione and Draco looked at each other and there was a small pause, before Hogwarts Head-Girl blurted, "I can't believe it! You're here!"

Draco grinned again. (He couldn't seem to stop.) "Truthfully, I can't believe it that I finally found you." At her look, he sighed: "Do you have any idea how many 'Grangers' live in London, or how many teeth healers work in this area?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "What are you talking about?"

He spread his arms. "I didn't have your address, Granger! I only remembered that you said once that your parents live in the north of London now, and that they heal teeth. Do you have any idea how long I traipsed around looking for tooth healers and families with the name of Granger? Finally, this nice lady here confirmed that she had a daughter named Hermione." She started to giggle. "Yah, you can laugh about it," he nearly pouted. "I've been in London now for hours, and hadn't a clue where to start. If not for a funny old woman who thought I was a complete stranger to Europe, and showed me a book with all the names and addresses, and a lot of numbers beside their names, I certainly would have remained completely lost."

Hermione was smothering a laugh, and choked out: "What sort of book?"

Draco threw his arms up. "I have no idea why you Muggles wrote out all your addresses and names in it or what those numbers mean, but they were all in tiny houses with a Muggle device, looking like a box with numbers on it. Several of them just looked like one of the entrances of the Ministry, but others stood open…" He stopped, because Hermione held her belly by now and had collapsed on the edge of her bed; tears of laughter were streaming down her face.

"You… you found us in a _telephone book_?" she laughed, not trusting her ears, imagining the Prince of Slytherin in the telephone kiosk, scanning telephone numbers.

"I don't know what _you_ call them. She told me I should use the yellow ones, and look under the term 'doctor' or 'dentist', whatever that means, and then I checked the addresses by apparating there — what a disaster that was. Then I finally landed in this borough, where a young woman with a dog told me about this place." He hesitated a moment, thinking back. "She looked at me strangely when I asked her if they were teeth healers. She seemed to find my question quite amusing and … Merlin, Granger, get a grip!"

Hermione was now doubled over, gasping for breath. Trying to control herself she reached for Draco's hand, who glared at her, a pout on his mouth. Finally reduced to giggles, she pulled him down to sit aside her, holding his hand in her own. It was still cold, and while she rubbed it between her palms, she tried to explain: "The numbers are telephone numbers. Most every family has its own telephone, and each telephone has its own number, and if you punch in this number, using the buttons on the box you spoke of, you create a link to another telephone, and you can speak with the person there. It's an older form of a cell phone. You've certainly seen them around." When he blinked, puzzled, she added, "When people hold something to their ears and talk, out on the street."

"Oh, yes!" he nodded. "I've seen them around today. How ridiculous everyone looks, talking to their hands."

Hermione laughed again. "Yes, and it looks like cell phones will soon do so much more than allow people to talk together." She saw that Draco didn't understand her anymore and changed quickly the subject. "So you've been looking for me?"

He nodded, grimacing. "Yes! And I thought I could see you and be out of here in … well," he sighed, "I should have known better!"

She ruffled his already tousled hair. "Oh, poor Draco," she teased, squeaking as he pinched her side.

"The one who is ticklish shouldn't ask for a tickling, Kitten."

Laughing again, Hermione looked at him. "You flew to London?"

He nodded. "I got a new broom for Christmas, a Firebolt!" He beamed with pride. "I flew the distance from the manor to the north of London in little more than an hour."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Wow!" was all she said, knowing that Harry had the same broom, and that it had to be a 'guy thing,' this passion for fast vehicles.

He smirked at her. "Yes, quite impressive. And then I lost a lot of time finding the your needle in the haystack." He shook his head. "All those cars and buses, all those people… And the traffic! I'm really glad I'm a wizard, and don't have to live in the world you've been born into."

Leaning her head at his shoulder, the young witch nodded. "I must agree." Then, "Give me your coat, please. I hope you were planning on staying a few more minutes."

He did as asked. "I'm glad to feel my toes again." She hung it on a hook beside the door, through which Crookshanks strolled, meowing. A moment later Mrs. Granger returned, carrying a tray with their tea and marble cake.

"Room service!" she joked, and Draco took the tray from her.

"Mrs. Granger, allow me."

Hermione sat, speechlessly watching Mr. Pureblood Slytherin doing 'house elves' work.' And as Draco turned around, seeing her thunderstruck expression and her mouth slightly agape, he grinned from ear to ear. "What's the matter, Kitten? It's only the gentlemanly thing to do."

"Where have you been hiding it for the last few years?" Hermione mumbled.

Her mother smiled warmly at the young man. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. Can you join us for dinner? We would love it if you stayed."

Handed her a cup of tea. "I'd be honored, Mrs. Granger, but my parents are expecting me home soon."

Jean nodded. "Of course. But perhaps next time?"

He gave her a shallow bow. "It would be my pleasure, Ma'am."

Lifting a brow, Jean turned to her daughter: "Now _that's_ a gentleman!" She took her tea to the doorway. "Have fun, you two. If you need anything, I'll be downstairs," she told them, and left the room.

For a long moment, both young people looked at each other, then Hermione shook her head. "Alright, that was a great show, I have to give you that."

Feigning offense, he slapped a hand over his heart. "Hermione, this is the real me. How _could_ you think otherwise?"

She shook her head and turned to the tray, separating cups and saucers. "Oh, I don't where I could have gotten the idea that you have a complete disdain for Muggles. I must have been imagining things."

Chuckling, he sat in an armchair and pulled her to his lap, and brushed his lips over hers. With a sigh she slipped her arms around him, and a moment later their kiss deepened. Hands stroked and tongues dueled as they enjoyed each other once again. Only seven days had gone by since they'd parted at Hogwarts – but that was seven days too long. This was heaven.

Finally the need to breathe forced them apart. Sighing deeply, Hermione laid her head into his neck, and he laid his cheek against her head; smiling as her curls tickled his nose. "I missed you," she whispered before she could stop herself, and felt him taking a deep breath.

"Yeah. Me too," he mumbled, his thumb caressing her hand.

And it was true. Only now he realized how much he had missed his fiery darling; how much he had secretly wished for her presence at the manor, celebrating Christmas with him. Yes, he had been happy to be reunited with Blaise, his best mate, but it would have been far more enjoyable if Hermione had been beside him.

_Christmas … _

_Merlin, he was an idiot! Why hadn't he taken the bracelet with him he bought her?_ This would have been the perfect moment to surprise her with it. But the jewelry remained hidden in the drawer of his nightstand in the manor. He sighed inwardly. Well, he would give it to her back in Hogwarts.

She hugged him one last time, then rose and looked up at him. "So, what brings you here?"

"Can't I see my girlfriend?" he asked, teasingly tapping her on her nose.

Grinning, Hermione turned and started to fill the cups. "Am I right in surmising that your parents haven't the slightest clue that we're more than Head-partners – or that they don't know where you are just this moment?"

"Yes to both," he answered, and frankly looked around her room. The colors were pastel. The room was a less than half the size of his own in the manor, but was cozy. Large framed pictures, showing landscapes and people from a different century, everything in perfect harmony and peace. Pink curtains hung at the window, a comforter in matching pastels covered her bed, and on the nightstand and on the desk stood photos of her, Potter, the Weaselette and Weasel-bee, all four are waving into the camera. Some Muggle photos, showing her parents and other people he didn't know, were here and there, along with figures of dolphins. One wall was lined with bookshelves and books, but not so many as he had expected. The room was friendly, light and comfortable, but there was something out of place. Something wasn't quite right, and then it hit him: all of it was new. Too new! And it revealed that the inhabitant wasn't here very much.

Hermione had followed his glance and smiled when she saw him frowning at the half empty book shelves. "I had to remove or destroy most of the books I owned when I deleted myself from the life of my parents." She met his confused glance and sighed. "When it became obvious that Voldemort would soon take over, and that it was only a question of time when the Ministry would fall, I had to protect my parents. So I removed any memory that they ever had a daughter, the _obliviate_ charm. Then I placed the idea in their minds that they were about to move to Australia. They were there for over a year – until Voldemort was dead and Shacklebolt agreed to help me to find them. The Australian Minister of Magic helped, too and restored their memories." She took a deep breath. "It … it hasn't been easy since that time. Their memories are all back, right, but they I know they feel ill-used … and disappointed that I used magic on them without their choice, or even telling them in advance."

Draco stared at her. "But you … you saved their lives! You sacrificed your own happiness to keep them safe!" he whispered, gulping, as the sacrifice Hermione had made to protect her parents finally dawned on him. "And … and still they're upset? But your mother … she seemed so completely … at ease around you."

Hermione, who had realized for some weeks now how strong the family ties were among the Malfoys, saw the shock on his face. She cupped his cold cheek with her palm. "No, they're not angry anymore. At first, there were arguments and a lot of tears. Then, before I returned to Hogwarts, it got easier, but still … awkward sometimes. But now things are in order again. Dad is occasionally a little bit wary around me. But thank you so much for caring."

His eyes dropped. "I … I do care about you."

Her eyes shone like brown diamonds, and she bent and gave him a gentle, feather light kiss, before she stepped back and gestured towards the tray. "Have a piece of cake."

Draco gingerly took a piece and tried it – and his eyes lit up. "Delicious!" he stated in amazement, taking a large bite.

Hermione snorted. "And this from the very same man who became hysterical when he learned he'd taken a Muggle painkiller."

Shrugging Malfoy took another bite. "This is completely different!" he said around the confection.

Giggling, she nodded. "Of course it is. After all, this is cake – and all of Hogwarts knows how taken you are with sweets." She saw him pause in the middle of the third bite, and explained, laughing: "Merlin, the many packages full of sweets your mother sent you the first five years told us that!"

Grinning, he lifted the last bite to his mouth. "Well, everyone has a weakness." And before he took it, he added, "But my weak spot has become something even more sweet." Wriggling his eyebrows, he ate the rest of his cake and sipped at the (surprisingly good) tea. _'__By Salazar's knotty wand, I really have to adjust some of my opinions regarding Muggles: they are clean. And they eat as well as wizards do.'_

Then another revelation hit him. Salazar … The parchment and the small book! His research!

Sighing, he leaned forward, replacing the dish on the tray and propping his elbows in his knees. "I'm not just here to see you, but also because of our Egyptian problem."

Interest lit up her eyes. "You found something?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Possibly more than we expected." He took a deep breath. "And … and to find a few more pieces to the puzzle, I think it's necessary to…" he bit his lips, "… to use that Muggle device you told me of, that web."

Hermione stared at him, blinked several times and teased: "Will this day bring me any more surprises?"

"Ha, ha," he said, sneering, then he turned serious. "The facts my father discovered during his research are … dicey. And it would be better if no one learns that this information came from my family."

Realizing that the material Lucius Malfoy had accessed for his son had to be dark, she also knew that it could be dangerous for Draco and his family if the Ministry caught wind of it. Despite her experiences with Lucius Malfoy and his ways, she simply nodded, not wanting to bring any danger upon Draco. "All right, mum's the word. I promise."

A quick nod of acknowledgment, Draco cleared his throat and began. "First: the name of the wizard behind it all is Penhuibin." He took a deep breath. "And there is a lot to tell." Over the next quarter hour, he explained to Hermione everything he'd found out.

After he finished, her face was pale. She gulped and finally whispered, "Gosh!" sounding like Ron. Then she gasped. "Slytherin?" she whispered and swallowed. "Did you just say that your family is in possession of a personal document of _Salazar Slytherin_?"

Clearing his throat, Draco rubbed his chin. "Listen, Hermione," he began carefully. "It cannot become public." He bit his lip. "See, we Malfoys are an old family, and one of my ancestors, in the early middle ages, was more or less a friend of Slytherin, shared his point of view, and helped him and the other two to build Hogwarts. Then, afterwards, he sent his son Borealis to the school, and Slytherin took him under his care – the first Malfoy that ever went to Hogwarts and was sorted into his house. The first of _all_!" He let the words sink in, and as he saw her large eyes filling with hunger for knowledge, he continued. "Slytherin then had that 'difference of opinion' with Gryffindor, and left Hogwarts to travel once again through Europe – and even further."

"To Egypt!" Hermione guessed and Draco nodded.

"Yes, as well as other countries, but Egypt was his last stop before he returned home. He remained there for two or three years, before he headed back to Great Britain. When he visited the first Malfoy Manor, he was already quite aged, and remained there several days, leaving behind some documents, before he left for his own castle. And that was the last time Borealis Malfoy ever met him. Months later, there was news that Slytherin had died, but there was no proof, because the witch he'd lived with for years – and gave him a daughter – didn't confirm his passing. Borealis and several friends travelled to the region where Slytherin had been born, and where they were sure his castle had to be, but no trace of him, the building, or his daughter were ever found. It seemed as if Slytherin had hidden it, not wanting anyone who was not of value in his eyes to be able to enter it after his death. The documents he left at Malfoy Manor vanished together, along with its famous library, after Borealis died. The story is told that he sealed the library with special charms, and allowed it vanish, so that no one could abuse the knowledge of Slytherin that Borealis left behind. Two centuries later, Muggles attacked the manor during a witch hunt and burned it down. All of the documents the children and grandchildren of Borealis had collected were never found again, except for two. They happen to be hidden among other documents in our home, until Father showed them to me."

Not breathing, Hermione had absorbed his tale, learning much about one of the founders of Hogwarts, and even about the Malfoy family. "And when was the actual manor built?"

"About three hundred years later, by the French line of our family, somewhere around 1600. Those who had survived the attack had fled to France, living with other members of the family for three centuries before they returned to Britain, and built the new manor above the ruins of the old one. Luckily, several very valuable artefacts and documents had been saved shortly before the Muggles attacked. These were taken to France, too, and returned when the family did. And there they stay, hidden."

He met her eyes and smirked. "Fascinating?"

Hermione could only nod, before she murmured: "You're right. They are very, very valuable. And they must be stored very carefully. The humidity and pollution in the air, and … _what_?"

He was chuckling now, shaking his head at her. "Granger, don't fret! Even if we're not librarians, my family does know how to treat old documents and books. Don't fear for them, they are well kept."

She nodded. "So, you think Penhuibin used a kind of primitive Horcrux to keep his soul in the world until the time had come and his fellows could resurrect him?" As he lifted a brow, she took a deep breath. "If so, then this situation is far more dangerous than we thought." She cocked her head. "But how is he to be re raised, if there isn't a body? As far as I know, the Egyptians believed that the body was absolutely necessary if someone was to be reborn, the reason for the perfection of mummification."

"And there is the hole in our answers that I want to fill and why I came to visit you. The Muggles have been poking around in Egypt for the last two centuries. You told me that a Muggle explorer cracked the code of the Hieroglyphs, and was able to learn much about the ancient Egyptians and their ways. If we could work out how someone could be reborn in their system, we might have the answers to what Penhuibin's fellows are planning."

Hermione grinned and rose. "I also found something quite interesting – something I was wishing I could share with you and the others."

She moved to her desk, Draco saw a sort of box, with a glass front, lit from the inside and showing a document. Another box was beneath the desk and buzzed softly; a small light blinking on it. Curious, Draco rose and stared down at the foreign thing. "What's that?"

"A computer," she answered, and then attempted to explain the concept of the computer and the connection of all the libraries, and how she could surf the web, but the further she went, the deeper was the frown between his eyes. But when he nodded slowly, she knew he had grasped the most important theories.

"Getting back to the subject," Hermione continued, opening a document on her PC. "The given names of our four visitors are no coincidence. They are all rooted, one way or the other, to the gods they are connected to. 'Neriman' means the brave, the courageous, the confident. Now, the old goddess of battle, Mehit, was later splintered into two halves, namely Bastet and Sachmet, Bastet's darker and wilder sister. The name fits. Then 'Edis'. His name means valuable, noble, sublime. For the Egyptians, the trial one encountered in the afterlife was the most important thing. If Anubis forfeited their souls, they would walk forever in darkness and were tormented by demons. This made him one of the most important gods, his decisions were final, therefore he was sublime."

Draco stared at her. "So consider Neriman's and Edis' behaviour in Hogwarts. If these two have a part of Bastet and Anubis in them, then it would make sense that the black cat – Neriman or Bastet – attacked Lestrange; a small pet against a large man who is also quite skilled in magic and the Dark Arts. And the jackal, who scared Greyback half out of his mind. I told you that I felt something dark, but also peaceful, something eternal around this animal, something you might call sublime, because death is sublime in its own way."

"My thoughts exactly," she commented. "But there is more. 'Abdel' means 'servant of God' and Uraeus was the eye of the highest gods of all, Re, that returned, was replaced, and got his own body to be the watcher and eye of Re on earth – his right hand, so to speak."

"And Uraeus was the cobra that spit fire – the beast that attacked me in dungeons," Malfoy frowned.

Patting his arm, Hermione continued: "I'm certain that Abdel meant to protect you – possibly from Layla, because she was the only one besides Abdel who was down there. Her name means 'the one with the dark hair', 'queen of the night' or 'perfect life'. The Egyptians feared the night. They even called the moon the 'sun of the night' to give themselves hope. Every night Re, the sun, died in the west and was reborn the next morning in the east, fighting its way back through night and its demons. If you put these together, you can read something more in her name. Maybe she is not only 'dark', but also sinister."

Draco leaned against the desk. "That brings me to the reason I came. I wanted you to look something up on that web of yours. When the followers of Penhuibin are convinced that their master can return because he somehow 'saved' his soul somewhere, and if I understood you correctly that for this procedure, the a corpse is needed, what happened to the mortal remains of Penhuibin? Where is it? And more importantly, what sort of rituals are necessary to make that rebirth take place at all?"

Hermione sat down at her desk chair. "Good questions. I found some information about the death rituals, but mostly burial ceremonies, not so much about what happened to the souls in the afterlife. I only know that they have to pass some tests in the Netherworld before they faced Anubis and Osiris, but I couldn't find more."

"And what about the date? Penhuibin and the other murderers were sentenced, this much we know. So whatever steps he took to make certain that his soul was safe, and could be 'rescued' one day, must have been shortly before or during the trial. And can we find any information about the time would be right for his rebirth?"

Rubbing her neck, Hermione pondered the matter a moment, then slowly answered, "Harry discovered in Slughorn's memories that someone has to split his soul to hide a part of it in an object, a Horcrux. Voldemort did it seven, or actually eight, times, so that only a small part of his original soul, so to speak, remained."

"No wonder that he was barely human anymore," Malfoy snorted, shaking his head. "Almost immortal, but utterly nuts. No, that is no solution!"

She tapped his knee. "We've found out that cheating death comes at a high price. Your soul can be splintered – or more accurately, torn apart – if you murder another, on purpose, and in cold blood. Not in a duel, not in self defence, but with malice aforethought. And since Penhuibin killed Ramses, that might have given him the right to split his soul."

Draco nodded slowly. "This is beginning to make more sense, now, but we still have to find out he place and the time. The key to this riddle must be hidden in his death." Pursing his lips the Slytherin Prince nodded towards the computer. "Any chance of finding results in that thing?"

Sighing, Hermione stared at the screen. "The world wide web is improving, but they are still storing more and more documents, reports, photos and the like every day. All available information about this subject is certainly not on the internet yet." She looked up, remembering. "But I know someone who might know more about him – or, at least, about the conspiracy against Ramses. She works in the British Museum and studies archaeology. Her specialty is the ancient Egyptian culture. I asked my neighbour if she could arrange a meeting with Angela while I'm there on holidays. Maybe she already talked with her friend." Hermione spun and took her cell phone from the night stand, pressed two buttons, and lifted the device to her ear. Draco watched her, fascinated.

"Sue? Hi, this is Hermione. – Yeah, thanks, everything is okay. I'm calling to find out if you talked with your friend Angela? – Yes? That's wonderful, but is there a chance I could meet her today? A classmate just stopped by and we'd like to do some research together, if … one moment, hold on!" Hermione took down the name and number, and promised to send her greetings to Angela. Saying goodbye, she closed the telephone and turned to Draco.

"Sue gave me her friend's number. If she has time, we can go to the British Museum and ask her about Penhuibin." She dialled Angela's number, and soon, "Angela Chapman? Hi, this is Hermione Granger. I'm a neighbour of your friend, Sue Barclay. Do you have a moment? – Thanks! I'm sorry to disturb you but see I… um ... kind of need your help. My classmate and I are working on an Egyptian project about the Ramses dynasties."

She glanced at Draco, who was watching her closely, but remained silent. The other girl's voice could be faintly heard, and Hermione nodded. "Yeah, they were really interesting – especially Ramses II, with those monumental buildings, and how _old_ he got. His son was less lucky, I guess." Again she listened and winked at her visitor. "Yeah, I know that he was around seventy has he fell to the conspiracy. It's about that betrayal that we could use your help. See, we are stuck on the way he was murdered – something of a complot, including the palace guards and members of the harem, as far as I know and … His _own wife and son_? Wow, no love lost there. – Yes, I also heard that there were other high officials involved, but the most names are lost. – What? His son's name was deleted? Hmm, then according to their beliefs, he couldn't have an afterlife. – Yes, I did some research about their religion, but, as I told you, I'm stuck now. So, would you mind if my classmate and I met you today at the Museum? We wouldn't take long; we only have a couple of questions. – Really? Oh, super. Thank you so much. – No, we'll be there in a few minutes, we are already downtown. – Yeah, until then. Bye!"

She closed the phone and beamed Draco. "We can meet her this afternoon."

Surprised he stared at her, then he lifted a brow. "This afternoon?" He checked his watch. "It's already half-past three!" Then he gulped. Half an hour until teatime, and he wasn't even on his way home, but on his way to a Muggle museum in London. He sighed inwardly. _'I will be in so much trouble!'_

Hermione shrugged and grabbed her satchel, where she packed her research, a notepad, and a pencil, along with her wallet. "Are we wizards, or not? We can apparate to the British Museum, talk with Angelina, and then return." She stopped. "Where is your broom, by the way?"

He shoved the image of a wrathful Malfoy patriarch to the back of his mind, tossed his head back over his shoulder. "Kensington Gardens. I hid it in a bush and encased it in an illusion charm. It's centrally located where I was looking for your house. I can pick it up from Kensington instantly by apparating back there."

She smiled at him. "Clev-errr!"

"Slytherin!" he reminded her, grinning, then he sighed; this time for real. "And my note said that I'd be back for afternoon tea. Father is going to kill me."

Hermione chuckled. "I doubt it." Quickly she collected the dishes, headed out of the room, Draco holding the door. Crooks sneaked out with her, while the young wizard slipped into his coat and followed her down the stairs. Her voice already rang out to him. "Mom? Draco and I are visiting the British Museum. Angela has time for us now and-"

"Mione?"

A man's voice called from far door of the hall, and as Draco turned, a man about his father's age stepped out of a large room – obviously the dining room – and stopped as he saw him. "Ah, our visitor."

Eyeing the man for a moment – brown eyes, brown hair with the first silver at the temples, open, clear features and broad shoulders – Draco thought he remembered him from an encounter several years back, in Diagon Alley.

George Granger looked over the young man, took in the expensive clothing he wore. He, too remembered the pale, handsome face from his visit to Diagon Alley. And only one thought crossed his mind. _'Children really do turn into people.'_

Hermione came back from the kitchen and smiled. "Hello, Dad, may I introduce him?" She stood beside the visitor. "Daddy, this is Draco Malfoy, my Head-partner, Draco, this is my father."

For just a moment Draco hesitated, feeling uncomfortable with the Muggle. Dr. Granger, Hermione's father, stood looking at the young man, quite aware of the history between Draco and his daughter. The man made no move, allowing Draco to sort through his thoughts and prejudices. Though only seconds, it felt like hours. Then, Draco's chin came up, and he offered her father his outstretched hand. "It's an honour, Mr. Granger."

Shaking his hand, George Granger smiled back. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Malfoy. The last time I saw you, you only were so big." He indicated the height of a young boy, and a smirk tugged at Draco's mouth.

"Yes, sir. But things have changed."

Mr. Granger nodded. "So I've heard. And that's something on your side, young man. I do not take it lightly when someone insults my daughter."

The Slytherin-Prince blushed and looked down at Hermione, who rolled her eyes at her father. "We were children then, Healer Granger, and as such we did behave badly. Isn't that so, Bookworm?"

"Too true, Ferret," Hermione shot back, grinning at him.

"Do I want to know where those came from?" George asked half-heartedly, and his daughter laughed quietly

"No, absolutely not, Dad." She took out her coat and boots. "We're heading to the British Museum," she informed her father, putting on her Gryffindor scarf. "I'll be back for dinner."

Jean Granger appeared at the kitchen door. "Isn't it a little bit too late for that?" she asked and Hermione shrugged.

"Angela can meet with us, and if we apparate, we can be there in seconds." She caught two confused glances and smiled: "It's a wizard thing. It's almost like beaming in Star Trek, only without the light." Draco helped her into her coat, staring. _What was she talking about?_

Jean sighed. "Explain it later." She looked at the baffled Draco. "Can I expect you for dinner?"

Malfoy buttoned up his coat. "I'll make sure she gets back safely, then go home." He looked straight at the woman. "I'll keep her safe, Mrs. Granger, I promise."

"_You_ will keep _me_ safe?" Hermione gasped and he smirked at her.

"You have a tendency to trip over trouble, so, yes, I will keep you safe."

They departed the house, bickering, and Hermione pulled him into the garden, where they would be safe from any curious eyes. "We have to apparate together, you with me, because you don't know the British Museum and… Draco, what's the matter?" Curious, she looked up at his confused expression.

"Granger, what the hell is a star trek?"

TBC…

_So, Draco and Hermione are off to the British Museum, where they are going to learn a lot, but there is also a lot of danger in store for them, because – as always – nothing goes like planned. _

_I hope you liked the reunion of the two love-birds and I'm looking forward to receive some more reviews._

_Once again: Have a nice Sunday, _

_Love you all,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	49. Pursued

_Hello, my dear readers,_

_I'm sorry that it lasted longer before the next chapter could be published, but my dear friend Cheetah had a lot of work with the beta-reading of this new part (you are going to see, why so), I was on holidays for a week and then we both – Cheetah and I – got a computer-virus that set us checkmate for quite a time._

_But now, finally, we are able to present the next chapter and hope, you are going to like it._ _Because I mixed real history and fiction once again, now the necessary disclaimer:_

_Disclaimer__: The papyrus mentioned in this chapter in the Egyptian Museum of Turin really exists, and has been newly translated over the past decades. It tells of Penhuibin, how he used wax dolls together with the black magic, and that he admitted this during his trial. There were, however, no reports of supernatural events during the actual trial, and there was no indication that Penhuibin killed himself. It's possible he was executed before his corpse was burned. Those changes are part of my 'historical fiction', changed with the greatest respect for the Egyptian culture._

_And now: Have fun, off to London,_

_Thank you so much for the reviews,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 48 – Pursued**

No one took notice of the young couple that strolled out from among the bare trees of Bedford Square Gardens, across the street from the enormous building in the classical style. The young man's wide-eyed stare was common among those visiting the first time. Draco Malfoy reluctantly admitted to himself that he would be utterly lost without Hermione at his side. Everything around him was so foreign that he momentarily felt a pang of homesickness. The noise of the traffic filled the air, crowds of people were walking quickly through the cold. A jet roared past them overhead, adding more noise to the busy traffic.

Hermione looked back, seeing Draco frozen to the spot. "Are you coming?" she asked, enjoying his expression as he stared up the huge façade of the building.

"That … monstrosity was built by _Muggles_?" he asked breathlessly, stunned by the noise, by the enormous edifice before him.

She nodded, "Yes, AND completely without magic." She took his arm. "What's the matter? I thought you and your mother were here before."

"When I was five or six," he mumbled, looking around himself. Tugging him, Hermione walked to the street and rounded the large building, heading for the main entrance on the Great Russell Street. "Merlin," Malfoy mumbled, "how big is this place?"

"Too big to see it all in a day," Hermione answered, secretly longing for the time to peruse the Museum's treasures with Draco. The plaza before the main entrance was crowded. A brisk wind made pedestrians walk quickly, holding their coats and scarves close about themselves. A large Christmas tree was decorating the middle of the yard. Garlands with Christmas lights were entwined around the two columns lining the entrance. The sky was darkening and the evening promised new snow.

As there was no admission fee, Hermione led Draco through the main doors, and sighed in relief at the wave of warmth, leaving winter behind them. And then Hermione witnessed a rarity that she felt made the entire trip worthwhile: Draco Abraxas Malfoy was speechless! And for good reason. He took in his surroundings, the enormity of the building, the architecture, the sleek mixture of classic and modern style, the hundreds of visitors milling about and passing through the structure, and felt the atmosphere of learning, of history, of research and discovery, and awe filled him. Whatever his father had taught him, this was not the Muggle world to which Lucius and the other purebloods referred. This was ... _amazing_!

Hermione stood in front of a framed layout of the museum, giving him a moment to get used to his surroundings. She had been here often, but she never forgot how impressive this building was to new visitors. She bit her lip, looking for their destination, then tugged Draco's sleeve. "Draco? We have to go upstairs to the next floor," she told him quietly. "The Egyptian Exhibition is in the north wing."

He nodded and followed her through the crowd. His eyes widened when he saw the colossal library in the centre of the building, then hurried to keep up with Hermione who was already heading for one of the many staircases. So distracted by his new surroundings, he did not notice the startled movement of the other as she called his name. And Draco would certainly have recognized the man, and warned his girl, would have tried to hurry her to safety. But he didn't look around him, and he didn't see the man clad in black leather pants, jacket and a coat that was more a robe than a coat.

Therefore, he didn't notice that same man staring after him and Hermione, nor that he followed them.

The pair ascended the south stairs to the first level, turned left and walked through the ancient Roman and Greek Exhibition, pausing to stare at the bust of Emperor Augustus. They finally reached the Egyptian artefacts at the north side of the museum. An older gentleman in a grey uniform – obviously an employee – crossed their path and Hermione politely asked him where she could find Angela. The man looked sceptical, but the pretty girl and the handsome young man at her side explained that they had an appointment with Miss Chapman. He used his walkie-talkie to inform Angela about her visitors.

A minute later a young woman emerged from a neighbouring room, wearing a blue suit, white blouse and pumps. Her short blond hair gave her a sporty appearance, and greeted them with an expression of open curiosity. "Hermione Granger?" she asked, as she approached, Hermione nodded. Angela thanked the guard, and he took the hint, nodded and continued on his rounds.

Hermione smiled in greeting. "Thank you for meeting with us so quickly. This is Draco Malfoy, my Head partner."

Angela gave him an appraising glance and then a winning smile, offering her hand. "Nice to meet you. Draco? An unusual name."

He took her fingertips, bowing over them, and offered her one of his own charming smiles. "An old family tradition, naming the children after the constellations."

Angela laughed, and her tone took on a musical smoothness, definitely in flirtation mode. "You're named after Draconius? And interested in Egyptian history? Unusual. Do you know that that constellation is particularly significant in Egyptian culture?"

"Indeed, Miss Chapman. But like most things from their ancient history, that constellation has a double meaning. The dragon was not only a dangerous creature, but also a wise counsellor."

"Right!" She turned, gesturing toward the room she'd just egressed. "And you are interested in the Ramses dynasty?"

"Yes, especially Ramses III and the circumstances of his death," Hermione spoke up; linking her arm with Draco's, giving the other woman a look that spoke volumes.

Draco smirked at the exchange. _Jealousy? Cute!_

"Ah!" Angela nodded. "The harem conspiracy, led by Queen Tiy and her son, assisted by several officers and a magician."

"Penhuibin, wasn't it?" Draco asked, and the young scientist looked at him with some surprise.

"Yes, correct. So, what is it you want to know about him and Ramses?"

"As much as possible," Hermione answered.

Angela led them into the next room. "Well, it's a long story. I want to introduce you to Ramses II. His bust is here."

If one of the two wizards had glanced behind them, they would have noticed that the blond man clad in black, the one that other pedestrians avoided because of his unpleasant aura, stared after them, making sure of their destination. He then turned and raced to the nearest public convenience. He stepped into a booth, and immediately the crack of a disapparation startled the others around him.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

"You're certain?" Lestrange stared at Dolohov, who snorted mockingly.

"How many 'Dracos' do you suppose there are with that hair? Of course I'm certain! And the girl with him was Granger. Malfoy's son and the Mudblood are in the Muggle museum in London – and they are visiting the Egyptian Exhibition, AND asking questions about _Penhuibin_! You know what this means!"

Rabastan growled. Vesuvia, who sat on an ottoman sipping wine, chuckled coldly. "Yes. It means that it was sheer bloody luck that you overslept today and were there later than planned. Otherwise you wouldn't have seen the little traitor and his slut." She tucked her legs under her and covered them with a blanket, then flicked her wand. The fire in the fireplace roared hotter, while outside the wind whistled around the corners. Vesuvia loathed the cold of winter.

Dolohov sneered at her. "No, it means that the Malfoy-boy and the Mudblood are onto us! They know enough of our plans with Penhuibin – a name you certainly don't trip over by accident!"

"Potter ..."

The other two heard the soft voice, full of malice and looked over at Dolohov. He was staring into the fire and grinding his teeth. "The little bastard must have stumbled onto something at school. We'll find out how later. He and his friends are probably out to 'save the world' again." He shook his head. "As soon as I get the chance, I'll kill this would-be Auror and his little gang, including the Malfoy-brat!"

"So, what now?" Fenrir Greyback growled, slouching into one of the old armchairs. "Young Malfoy is seeking detailed information about Penhuibin, and not for nothing. We can't let him share his new information with others."

Lestrange nodded. "I agree, Fenrir." He waved his hand toward the door. "Inform the others. I think a visit in London is necessary."

The werewolf paused in the doorway and glared back at them. "The girl is mine!" he snarled, his eyes narrowed.

Vesuvia groaned. "Merlin, Greyback. You are unbearable! You'll get your bitch when the time is right."

He snarled again, then vanished, his long robe following him. Lestrange snorted. "He must be in heat." He shook his head and addressed Dolohov. "Did you find anything about-"

"They have a section set aside for the ancient history of the island. And there are several ruins in Yorkshire and around the Fens mentioned, as well as several so called 'vanished' castles. I took some photos from the description and made some notes," he gestured to the satchel lying on the table. "But-"

"We'll take a closer look at that when the 'Malfoy' problem is gone," Lestrange interrupted. To the red haired witch, "Vesuvia, my dear, care to join our little hunt?"

She rose, wrapping herself in the blanket. "I thought you'd never ask!"

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

"So," Hermione watched the blue eyes of the other girl for hints of further revelations, "Penhuibin somehow weakened the guards, perhaps with poison or potions, or less likely, bribes. While he was there, Rameses' second wife and several other women lured the pharaoh into the harem, and then tried to kill him?"

"That's what it looks like," Angela shrugged, "but we don't know exactly how he died. One theory was that he was poisoned, explaining his slow death. Perhaps a snake while he was sleeping. This was a common method of murder. It did not attract undue attention. The homes were all open with no glass, only latticework. It was common for animals to roam the large buildings. Another point for this theory is an amulet he bore. His mummy was found among forty others in a large tomb, where the Romans had placed them after robbing their funerary goods. It was an amulet around his wrist. It was to allow Re to protect Ramses' arms against snake bites. If Ramses was killed by snake poison, the amulet was meant to protect him from getting bitten again."

"A little bit late for, after he already died, wasn't it?" Draco commented dryly, eyes drawn to an open sarcophagus that seemed to be made of gold and decorated with emeralds and hieroglyphs.

"Oh, that protection was meant for the afterlife," Angela smiled.

"And what other cause of death might there have been," Hermione opened the neck of her coat, the amulet seeming to grow warmer now, "I mean, if he didn't die from snake venom?"

"There might be a dozen answers to that," she replied. "He could have been sick, or they mixed a poison that we couldn't test for yet. But whatever it was, it was painful. There are reports that he suffered for days. All strength left him, he had difficulty breathing, he vomited repeatedly, one observer noted that it was as if 'life was sucked out of him'."

Hermione and Draco exchanged a quick glance. Dark magic!

"Is that record here in the museum?" Hermione asked, but Angela shook her head.

"No, that one was stolen." She paused, thinking, then continued: "But there is another record of the last days of Ramses' life and of the trial. It's called the 'papyrus of Turin' because it's exhibited in Turin. It's a report Ramses IV ordered. It explains what happened during the trial of the conspirators."

A man with two children passed by to look more closely at several artefacts, and Angela's voice fell to a murmur. "The conspiracy was discovered just as the assault was planned. They wanted to use the spring feast as the time to initiate it. The people were already frightened because of a famine in the land. There is a report that tells how the people contacted the favourite adviser of Ramses, asked him to tell the pharaoh that they had no vegetables, no oil, almost no meat. The enemies were approaching Egypt's borders, and politically, the country was slowly sinking into chaos – the perfect conditions for a revolt. During full moon at the traditional spring feast, the conspirators started their dirty work, but the guards who weren't distracted by ... something the scientists are still puzzled about ... realized what was going on and fought for their pharaoh. All conspirators who survived were taken captive and the revolution was halted. But it was too late for Ramses. He died several days later."

Draco crossed his arms. "What happened to the conspirators?"

"They were brought to trial and had to face Ramses again."

"But… he was deathly ill, or already dead," Hermione asked. "How…?"

"The pharaoh was always present during the trial – if not in person, then in an object that represented him. In most cases, it was a weapon that had been never used in battle. It would symbolize him and his authority."

"Did this weapon have anything to do with the decision?" Draco pressed.

"No, not really. Witnesses were questioned, and the miracles were investigated. And afterward, the judges convicted them. The son of Queen Tiy and several others of high rank were sentenced to die by their own hands, others were sentenced to die at the stake or by beheading. The most horrible things were ordered for Prince Pentavei – we think that this was the name he had been given after his real one was deleted – and his two closest assistants: Penhuibin and a man whose name can be interpreted 'the master of snakes', another indication of how Ramses was killed, in my opinion."

"What happened to the three men?" Hermione asked, sitting on a small bench. Draco remained standing between her and Angela; his eyes on the other girl, demanding answers.

She did not disappoint. "Pentavei killed himself using poison. Then his body was buried with his mouth gagged and every hint of his name deleted. Because of this, he would have no opportunity to be reborn one day, because his soul couldn't return through the mouth, as the ancient Egyptians believed necessary if one was to be reunited with his body again. The 'master of the snakes' killed himself, as well. What happened to his body is not known. And Penhuibin was the first to die, killing himself at the trial. If I recall accurately, the papyrus of Turin mentions something about a quarrel or brief fight in the court. Obviously Penhuibin attempted to prove to the judges that they couldn't control him. As far as I remember, his body was burned afterwards, but his ashes were not spread through the streets like they did with the other conspirators, but were kept in an urn in Ramses' tomb." She frowned, remembering something. "That's really odd – and it only occurs to me now. How strange!"

"What?" Draco asked, knowing that here was another very important detail, possibly another key piece of the puzzle.

"Well, it seems as if the leaders feared Penhuibin and his power enough to lock his ashes away. In those days, the people believed that evil could befall them by simply touching a person's ashes. Therefore, the judges wanted to protect their people from the infection of Penhuibin's power by locking it away."

"Did they fear his magic?" Hermione also understood that they were on the right track now.

Angela shrugged. "They feared what people called 'magic' at that time. Penhuibin used wax dolls to curse the guards. They were a kind of forerunner of voodoo, something you might have heard of. Wax dolls were a common tool used to gain influence over certain people. It is also said that Penhuibin used the library of Thebes to study and gain new skills, and he was sentenced not only for his part in the murder of the king, but also for his treacherous use of black magic. In the eyes of the people, he must have been a powerful, very dangerous and dark wizard, who only could be stopped even after his death by hiding his ashes away." She stood relaxed, hands propped in the pockets of her lab coat.

"What happened to the urn?" Draco felt his palms getting damp. _Merlin, this was all fitting together!_

"It vanished. In 1881, when Emil Brugsh found the mummy of Ramses III along 40 other corpses, the original tomb having been raided centuries before. Certainly the Romans had a hand in it. After they seized Egypt, they opened many of the old tombs to steal the treasures. It's indeed possible that the urn vanished in those two centuries before Christ, possibly earlier." She tapped her chin, thinking, and the two visitors waited, hiding their impatience. "Another report eighty years after Ramses' death tells about a small group of people who had obviously sympathized with the conspirators, especially Penhuibin, but most were captured. The belief in wizards and witches even existed in ancient Egypt. Perhaps those people thought they might absorb some of magical power for themselves, if they were loyal to him." She shrugged.

"So, if I understand you correctly, the murderers were condemned, with no chance of an afterlife," Hermione related. "And I read that every individual had to face the trial of Anubis. So, their souls went to the Netherworld. Would they have been cursed there?"

Angela grinned. "Ah, yes. Anubis. One of the most fascinating gods of Egypt and one of the most popular." She showed them the photograph of a large painting in an Egyptian tomb. It showed Anubis, tall and formidable, and behind him: _several smaller versions of himself_.

"There were others like him?" Hermione asked, wondering what they meant.

Angela shook her head. "The pictures, like this one, that show these smaller images of Anubis are still a mystery to us. It's possible they were his servants or assistants." She sighed. "But they're not mentioned in the texts." She pointed to another picture, showing a man with olive green skin, dressed like a pharaoh, sitting on a throne, Anbuis behind him. "At the time of Ramses, the Osiris-cult was mature, and Anubis was 'only' his servant, responsible for the mummification. Osiris was the one who tested the souls of the dead, weighing their hearts against the feather of Maat, the goddess of world order. If the heart was heavier than the feather, it meant that it was full of sins, and then Ammit, the Great Devourer, ate them. Ammit was portrayed as a creature with the head of a crocodile, the torso of a lion and the hindquarters of a hippo – very pretty!" she laughed.

"Why the heart?" the other girl asked. "I thought the soul…"

"The old Egyptians believed that the soul lived in the heart. Therefore if the heart was weighted because the soul in it was dark and sinful, it was heavier than the feather. Afterwards they had to walk through eternal darkness, facing demons over and over again. Especially Apophis, the Great Snake – the Egyptian equivalent of our Satan."

"Again with the snakes? It seems Egyptians were obsessed with them," Draco grumbled, and Hermione looked at him askance. He caught her look, then shrugged. "My House emblem may have a snake, but I'm no fan!"

Angela laughed. "No one in his right mind could be a fan of Apophis. He was the personification of darkness, born in the ocean of chaos before time begun. They say Re has to fight Apophis every night. Even the soul of a pharaoh, who becomes one with Re during the tests in the Netherworld before he can travel to the stars, had to battle this most powerful of all demons. No one can stand to look in Apophis' eyes, because its glow would burn everyone instantly…"

"Like the basilisk," Hermione sighed and, to her surprise, Angela nodded.

"Very similar. The prey of a basilisk is turned to stone, but dead is dead."

"So I've heard!" the witch murmured, remembering seeing the monster through a mirror.

The young scientist mistook Hermione's comment completely and continued: "Maybe because of Apophis the legend of the basilisks was born. After all, the Greeks ruled Egypt for quite a long time. And there is also the story of Medusa, who is similar to the basilisk, but this is another issue." She gestured towards a large statue, showing Anubis, clad in golden loincloth, holding a sickle and an ankh cross in his hands. "While he took care of the mummification, the soul had to journey on, passing twelve portals in twelve hours – meaning one night. The first portal was guarded by … you can guess?"

"Serpents!" Draco sighed and Angela chuckled.

"Correct. Every Egyptian had to learn the names of the snakes, because only calling them by their proper names in their language made them retreat, allowing you to proceed."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Parsel!" she whispered, so only Draco could hear.

"Then the soul had to cross a lake of fire, with damned souls in it – very much like hell is supposed to look. And so on and so forth. Twelve tests, including the weighing of the heart. If the soul passed all the tests, it could live in the afterlife until the time for rebirth."

"And for this rebirth the body was necessary," Draco mused, still wondering that the language they had labelled 'Parseltongue' had been known over three thousand years ago.

"Yes. There was no worse fate for an Egyptian than to have his body burned or destroyed," Angela continued. "The Romans, who removed Ramses and forty other corpses from their tombs and placed them in one large cave, respected the religion of the conquered enough to treat the bodies with care – not usual for them."

"Was there any chance that a soul would not have to face Osiris or could avoid the Netherworld?" Hermione was already a step ahead.

Angela cocked her head and pursed her lips. "No, not really. I mean, if someone knew that he wouldn't stand a chance against the trial of Osiris, he maybe hoped for some magical tricks to save his soul, but I don't think that this would have worked." She shrugged. "You can't cheat death."

Draco indicated a mummy exhibited in a large showcase. "How long did it take to prepare a corpse like that?"

"Exactly seventy five days," Angela replied. She led them to another exhibit. "Here in Room 62, we are studying Egyptian mummification. When someone died, having paid for his mummification in advance, his corpse was washed and cleaned." She pointed toward four urns, beautiful decorated with animal heads. "These are Canopic Jars. At later times, they were decorated with the heads of Horus' four sons. Organs were removed from the body, wrapped in cloths and doused with resinous anointing oil. The brain was removed by piercing the frontal sinus through the nose with a chisel, whisking one's brain matter to a purée, and then it pulling it out with a long thin hook." She watched her guests' uncomfortable expressions. "Remember that they were already dead!"

The two visitors swallowed, and smiled uncomfortably.

"Then the abdominal cavity was filled with palmwine, myrrh and other religiously significant herbs. To protect the body from rotting apart, all fluids had to be withdrawn. They used natron for this, a drying agent. The whole procedure lasted thirty-five to forty days. Afterwards the corpse was ready to be refilled with new herbs, linen bags, sawdust and so on to stabilize and re-shape the body. Fingers were bandaged to save the nails, and several other methods employed to preserve its original appearance. Finally it was wrapped in strips of cloth, like you see over there," she gestured to the mummy, "and then the day of the official. burial arrived. The mummy was placed into the sarcophagus, amulets placed with it, prayers were spoken and then it was taken to the tomb."

"All that in seventy-five days?" Hermione whistled. "That's a lot of work."

"Very true, and difficult work. The priests wore Anubis masks to protect themselves and to render homage to him, because they believed they were connected to him during their work."

Draco stared at her. "They were… connected?" Another puzzle piece was finding a place.

"Yes. The novice priests had to vow themselves to the god or goddess of the temple they were sworn to. It is said they were then connected to the god for the rest of eternity. Personally, I think the mask was used to protect them from the smell of decomposition in a hot climate. It certainly must have reeked around those bodies."

Grimacing, Hermione shook her head. She had a good idea whom it had smelled. If she only remembered the Potion classroom …

"So, any more questions?" Angela asked. "I can show you around, if you like. The Egyptian Exhibit here is the largest one outside the museum in Cairo."

The offer was tempting. Suddenly Hermione gasped and pulled her scarf away from her neck. "What is it?" Draco asked.

"It … it's just so hot," she replied, looking toward the door to the next room. Draco noticed the person in a long black cloak – or robe – with fire red hair, and another wearing similar clothing-

"Time to go!" he saluted Angela then took Hermione's wrist and pulled her behind him.

Angela instantly fell into step. "Something wrong?" she asked.

He didn't pause, even as Hermione tried to wriggle free. "I just now realized how late it is. I should have been home an hour ago. Thanks so much for your time." He sped up, almost running now. He could hear the heavy footsteps behind him and only slowed down when they reached the eastern staircase.

Angela was not fooled. Quickly she looked back and saw the black-clad people with their right hands shoved into their pockets and murder in their eyes. "Friends of yours?" she quipped, reaching for her walkie-talkie.

"Acquaintances. Damn, how did they know we were here?" Draco spat, pulling Hermione with him, who also reached for her wand.

And then everything happened all at once. Their pursuers started to run and Draco whirled, raised a stick and shouted, "_Protego_!"

The next moment, a wicked green light splashed across an invisible concave surface around Angela, failing to reach her. A shock wave hit her and shoved her down several stairs, and one of the dark figures leapt forward, pointing his own stick at Draco and Hermione. And then hell broke loose. Lights and energy bolts shot through the air, hitting walls and cabinets; window glass splintered, screams of terrified visitors echoed around them, alarm bells started to ring, the sprinkler system suddenly went off and showered the staircase – taking the visitors in black by surprise. Draco and Hermione pulled Angela to her feet, Hermione raced off with her in tow, while Draco sent several exotic hexes at Lestrange and the others. "RUN!" the young witch screamed and shoved the frightened scientist ahead of her.

Angela charged ahead, ignoring her bruised back and twisted ankle. "What in hell?" she whispered. These visitors, the other seven, they were using ... wands? And these were no toys! One of the men – the large one with blond hair – was lifted into the air as if by an invisible fist, and flung against the wall. A red-haired woman and another man tossed their wands about, screaming "_Avada Kedavra_!" but again the green light was held off them by some powerful shield the eye couldn't see.

Hermione quickly flicked her wand, "_Locomotor mortis!"_ as Greyback shoved ahead of the others toward them, and the werewolf fell on the stairs, grinning up as he looked at her. "I'll bet us two'll have a lot of fun," he growled – and then roared in pain as Draco hit him with another hex.

"You will keep your filthy paws off her!" the Slytherin-Prince yelled, before he sent his uncle backwards with another curse.

Hermione gasped as the Eye of Horus grew hot again, almost burning her. Trusting Draco to shield her, she tore her sweater open to get the now glowing necklace away from her neck – and heard a loud screech from the female Death Eater that Draco was holding off.

Vesuvia howled like a Banshee as a golden light – bright as noon sunshine – blinded her the moment the piece of jewellery cleared the sweater. Slapping one hand across her eyes, she stumbled backwards, taking two others with her.

Draco saw his chance. Grabbing Hermione's arm, he pulled her with him, pushing the numb Angela in front of him. "Run or die!" he screamed at the horrified Muggle. "Hermione, get her out of here!" he ordered, and whirled about again, sending new spells toward their hunters.

The sound of running came nearer, shouts were heard. The Muggle guards were on their way. _Very good._ Rabastan would think twice if he wanted to use magic in front of dozens of Muggles. Revealing the wizardry world to the Muggles was something even he would never do.

Hermione had pulled Angela with her down the last stairs, leaving the stairwell. Several attendants were now headed towards them, and Hermione used them. "HELP!" she screamed. "They… they attacked us. Men! In Black! They're trying to kill my friend!"

The attendants passed them by, one of them ordering someone to call the police before he followed his comrades. Draco fought his way past them, reaching the two panting girls.

"You okay?" he asked out of breath, pulling her into a quick hug.

"Y-y-yes," she choked, and they whirled around, as something like an explosion sounded on the stairs.

"Quick, while they're distracted!" Malfoy ordered, and pulled the two with him through the panicking crowd. The sudden exodus of visitors carried with them toward the main entrance. Pushed, elbowed, almost crushed they poured out of the building into the early winter evening, police sirens approaching, two ambulances by the curb. It had started to snow again and the ground was slippery, but it didn't slow the crowd. Several fell, shouts of pain and screams for help echoed from the façade. Draco didn't stop. Even as he, with the two girls in tow, reached the street and crossed it as quickly as possible, dragging Hermione and Angela with him, he ran on until they were onto another street and could finally duck into a doorway. Only then he let go of them and leaned against the wall, fighting for breath.

Hermione shivered, breathing heavily, and looked at Angela, who looked as if she might scream in terror or sigh in relief. Finally, after a moment of silence, interrupted by the sound of their panting, Angela straightened. "Answers!" she panted, pointing at them. "Who are you really? And, more important ... _what_ are you?" A new kind of panic was in her voice.

"You wouldn't believe us," Hermione replied, buttoning her coat again against the cold.

"You … you used _wands_! You did _magic_! Real magic! I saw it! You can't deny it, you… you … you are _wizards_!"

Draco sighed, head bowed. "Great!"

Hermione, always looking for a solution, turned to her calmly. "Angela, if you … _Draco_, what are you doing?"

He had muttered, "_Stupefy._" The young woman suddenly dropped into the waiting arms of the Slytherin. Carefully, he laid her in the doorway, then pointed his wand at her temple. "_Oblivate_!"

Hermione gasped. "Malfoy, have you lost your mind? What are you doing?"

He rolled his eyes. "What does it look like? I'm protecting all of us. For her, it's best if she doesn't remember anything about the last few minutes, and for us it's best that no Muggle unconnected to any of us learns of us."

Hermione propped her hands on her hips, looking that moment strangely like McGonagall. "You can't let her lie here. She'll freeze to death-"

"Hermione, don't worry your little head. I'm not daft!" he glared. He lifted Angela on his arms and headed toward the street again, looking carefully both ways. It was that moment that an ambulance came around the corner and Hermione reacted immediately. Running out into the road and waving her arms, the ambulance screeched to a halt. One of the paramedics opened a window open, shouting: "What's the matter? We're on a call-"

"This woman came running from the direction of the museum, only to faint in front of us," Hermione interrupted him, pointing to Draco and the unconscious Angela.

The driver swore while the paramedic left the car. "She came from over there," Draco nodded into the direction of the museum, where flashing blue lights could be seen in the gathering darkness. He handed the young woman to the Muggle wearing white, with the red cross on the sleeve of his jacket; guessing that the man had to be a healer. "What's happening there?"

"Don't know, only that there seems to have been another raid at the museum. And this time the thieves attacked people." He rounded the back of the ambulance, where a second paramedic opened the door. "So stay clear of the place!" he added, while the other prepared the gurney.

"Of course, sir. We were heading home when all the noise started and then this woman came racing down the street as if the devil was chasing her," Hermione explained. The white lie came easily over her lips_. Draco was right. This was their only chance to minimize the risk._

The driver nodded. "People panic in these situations. Just go on home, Miss. That would be the best."

Draco stepped back, watching the two men carefully, then took Hermione's hand and walked away. They didn't stop until they were in the next empty street. "All right," he started, clearly shaken. "We have to get away from here. I'll take you to your parents and then-"

_CRACK!_

Only Draco's quick reaction saved them. Throwing up a shield, the killing curse crashed against it. They both heard Greyback's hoarse voice growl, "Not the girl!"

A darted glance revealed that he and Hermione were surrounded, as Lestrange and his fellows apparated around them, and did the first thing that came to his mind. He pulled Hermione to him, whirled on the spot and disapparated, landing in Kensington Gardens. But they had not come alone. Dolohov and another Death Eater named Assion had apparated alongside, wands now raised.

Hermione, being in a convenient position, jerked her foot upward and kicked Antonin there where it hurt the most. With a squeal, the man fell to his knees, unable to even scream. Draco stunned Assion after dodging another hex, then dragged Hermione with him into the next thicket. A soft murmur while he pocketed his wand, and the illusion faded, revealing the racing broom that instantly rose into Draco's waiting hand. "Hop on!" he shouted, knowing that Lestrange and the others could arrive any moment.

She gaped at him. "What?" she squeaked.

Draco whirled around, "Damn it, Granger, hop on the broom!"

Hermione retreated, vehemently shaking her head. "No! No, no and again no! Not with me!"

Thunderstruck, Malfoy stared at her. "Granger, this is no time for silly games. Just mount the bloody broom!"

"I … I … No! Not such a fast one! I …" she stuttered, real panic on her face.

"DAMN IT, Hermione, hop on my broom - NOW!" Draco all but screamed, hurling a hex at Dolohov. "_Petrificus totalus_!" But it was too late. Antonin had already touched his Dark Mark, notifying Rabastan and the others where they were. It was a matter of seconds until Lestrange and his fellows would be here.

Hermione stared at the un-moving Death Eater, then gulped at Malfoy. "No, you don't understand. I… I'm deathly afraid of heights-"

He stared bewildered at her, then groaned, "Heights? You are afraid of _heights_? There are EIGHT DEATH EATERS OUT HERE who are coming TO KILL US, and you are AFRAID OF HEIGHTS?" Without giving her a chance to reply, he pulled her roughly towards him and mounted his Firebolt, holding Hermione firmly in front of him. "Pull you right leg over the broom stick and hold tight, I'll do the rest."

Hermione's eyes were wide as dinner plates, and she forgot to breathe – but in the next moment she forgot her phobia, as Lestrange and the red-haired woman appeared beside him, both with raised wands. Draco renewed the shield around the broom, kicked away from the ground and took flight. A moment later, they'd vanished into the darkness, and the Death Eaters were alone with the falling snow and the wind.

From the street, Greyback and another Death Eater cursed vilely, before Lestrange barked a sharp: "Silence! I do think we attracted enough attention already."

Vesuvia, eyes still affected from the blinding light, shrieked. "They escaped!"

"No, they haven't!" he snarled, showing his teeth. "I know where the boy is going - home to Daddy! And we will wait for him there."

"Didn't you see that the boy is riding a _Firebolt_! Care to explain how we're supposed to get there?" she demanded

Rabastan sneered. "Don't be so dramatic and _think_ for a change. We apparate several times, until we reach Malfoy Manor. The boy will fly home instead of apparating, too, since the wards at the manor would not allow entrance to his Mudblood-slut. He has to raise the barriers first – and then we have him! Him, the girl, Narcissa _and_ Lucius!"

TBC…

_So, my dear readers, I do hope you enjoyed the new chapter and the many information about the Egyptian culture and rituals weren't too much. But they were necessary to explain later, how and why the whole situation around Penhuibin is becoming such a great danger to all._

_I also hope you liked the action – and a lot of action will be in the next chapter, this much I can already reveal. And you have three guesses how Lucius will react to the mess his son (and Hermione) are going to bring straight to his doorstep._

_It would be nice to get some reviews,_

_Have a nice time,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	50. Fight at Malfoy Manor

_Hallo, my dear Readers!_

_Thank you so very, very much for all the reviews. I am really happy that you enjoyed the last chapter this much and that you left so many comments. It seems that I'm still on the right way, how this story proceeds and I'm damn glad about it._

_The next chapter will be full of action, this much I can reveal. I really hope you're going to like the new instalment like the last one._

_Have fun,_

_Love to you all,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 49 – Fight at Malfoy Manor**

Hermione had grasped the polished broom stick in a death grip, her eyes tightly closed, scream of terror locked behind her teeth, and prayed that the flight would end quickly. The cold and the danger made her tremble, as fear on several levels circled in her mind. She felt Draco tightening his arm around her, while he steered the Firebolt with graceful skill – a flyer in his element, but she felt like a fish thrown ashore.

After some time, Malfoy breathed deeply and relaxed. "They didn't follow us. We were too fast for them," he said near Hermione's ear. Her hair tickled his face, and as he saw how she was shivering, he pulled her even closer.

"Where are we going?" she asked in an uncharacteristically small voice.

Draco almost smiled. Almost – because what happened at the museum would keep him wary for hours.

"Home, to the manor." She winced, and he laid his cheek against hers; knowing the reason for her reaction. "Don't be afraid, Hermione, no harm will come to you there. My mother is grateful that you saved my life, and Father is going to accept you. He will have no other choice." _'... after he calms down concerning my trip to London,' _he added in his thoughts.

For a long minute Hermione was silent, trying to absorb the thought of returning to that house where she'd been so brutally tortured. She felt his skin touch hers, and she knew that it was going to be all right. As long as Draco was with her, Lucius Malfoy wouldn't do anything stupid. After all, he and his family were still under observation, and he couldn't risk a new trial by threatening her. Then she frowned.

"Why didn't you apparate us to my parents' home?"

Draco sighed. "Because I know Uncle Rabastan. He could have apparated alongside, and then they would have known where your parents live, their death sentence. Stay calm, Kitten, you're safe with me and my parents!"

Sighing in defeat, Hermione leaned into him, trying to ignore the fact that she was flying several hundred feet above solid ground with a speed a race car would have difficulty following. Draco squeezed her gently as he noticed she was still as stiff as a stunning spell, and remembered her recent confession. He couldn't understand why anyone could hate flying – he loved to be midair! – but when his lioness was afraid, he would do whatever it took to make her comfortable again. "You're safe with me on the broom," he whispered and waited for a reply that didn't come. He sighed inwardly. "Do you trust me?" She simply nodded once, and this time he had to smile. "Then try to relax, and perhaps you can perform a small warming charm, while I get us home? It's damn cold here."

With shaking fingers, Hermione pulled her wand out and whispered the charm. Instantly the chill wind was blocked. Draco pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, chuckling: "Welcome back, my little lioness!" He couldn't know that they would need more than 'a little lioness' to win the fight that was about to come.

Hermione couldn't tell how long their flight lasted. It seemed they'd been speeding through that snowy night for days on end, and the Muggle-born witch asked herself, how, in Merlin's name, could Draco know he was going the right direction? Here and there they could see streetlights or headlights from motorcars in the darkness, but in the snow and the wind, she couldn't make out even a street. Nevertheless, the Slytherin-Prince flew straight on, until he finally called out, "Hold tight, we're going down."

Confused Hermione looked downward; she could barely see in a new flurry of snowflakes. "Are you sure this is it?"

His answer was a short laugh, before he aimed the broom stick down and they descended. Hermione pressed her lips firmly shut, refusing the scream behind them, while her stomach turned upside down. It would have been the deepest humiliation of her life and her House: entering the Slytherin stronghold, so to speak, and screeching like a little girl. No, never!

And then she saw it: tall towers, the light streaming from several high windows, illuminating the falling snow. Then she recognized the large gardens, almost labyrinthine, and she could make out an open area, perhaps a pond.

Draco passed the estate and flew down in a low curve, landing in front of the high wrought iron gate she remembered vaguely from the time Greyback and the other Snatchers had brought the three of them to the manor. All those months ago, she hadn't looked closely at the mansion. It had only looked threatening, sinister, promising a dark fate for them all, but now she had a very different impression. Most of the windows shone with light, and only now she noticed how many of them there were. The style was strongly Tudor, with the addition of the tall spires, covered with what could be forest green shingles. Lofty hedges, covered in snow, lined the entrance drive. If she hadn't known that this manor was built by a family connected to the Dark Arts, if she hadn't been tortured within these walls, she would have marvelled at the beauty, and longed to explore it. But such dread spread through her that, in spite of the cold, she felt herself break into a sweat at the thought of entering this building again. She slid off the broom and stood on the snow-cleared drive.

Draco took his Firebolt in hand, and walked toward the iron gates. If he had been alone, he would have slipped through them as if an illusion, but with Hermione in tow, the wards would not allow her to enter. It was for this reason that he hadn't flown directly to his quarters. The security spells set around the building would not allow anyone but the three Malfoys, selected Aurors and the Malfoy house elves to enter the grounds. The protection could not be crossed from above.

Draco approached the gates, raised his wand and whispered a counter spell, removing the ward on the gates, then pushed one open. Glancing back, he saw Hermione standing stiffly where they had landed, hugging herself, looking with a mixture of awe and fear at the structure beyond the gate. He sighed quietly. He could understand her reaction, but it hurt him to know she feared it so. He wanted her to like his home, to feel comfortable in it, but it wouldn't happen today. He didn't think about why he wanted her happy here, after all, she would only be here briefly, but somehow it was important to him. Realizing that he couldn't rush things or push her, he smiled and tried to lighten her mood with, "Come on, Kitten, or will you grow roots?"

Collecting her Gryffindor-courage she swallowed and closed the distance to him, berating herself for her cowardice. The war was over, Voldemort was dead, Lucius Malfoy had still to prove himself to the whole wizardry world that he didn't belong in Azkaban, and Draco was with her. Her logic told her no harm should come to her in these walls again, but the memories were still there.

Crossing the invisible threshold she stopped and turned to her escort, to ask how long she might be there, when the Eye of Horus suddenly grew hot. In a moment, the Egyptian amulet burnt like fire, and at the same moment, before Draco could close the gate behind him, she saw ... _them_! Shadows, clad in black robes and silver masks!

"MOVE!" she screamed, yanking him aside, as a spell was hurled past him and the gate was forcefully pushed open. Draco was hurled back like a plaything, landing hard behind Hermione, who flicked her wand, raising a shield around them. Not a moment too soon, the _Avada_-curse collided with her charm.

Draco, who had fallen hard, was back on his feet, ignoring the pain in his wand arm; his broom forgotten by the hedge. He had to replace the wards, or Malfoy Manor would be exposed and vulnerable!

Too late!

"_Bombardium_!"

The two iron gates exploded, flames dancing down the hedges, hissing as they met the snow. The blast had driven the two students further down the path, and Hermione yelped, feeling the graze at her temple. Though bleeding now, she rose and hurled hexes at the Death Eaters passing through the flickering flames – black silhouettes with gleaming masks in the glowing fire.

Draco rose, more clumsily than before, and shot stunning spells against Rabastan and the others, while Hermione tried to disarm them. Red and blue flashes were traded, one of the Death Eaters was blasted back as the Head Girl's hex hit him, but the two young people were outnumbered, facing experienced and ruthless killers. Step by step, they were forced back, even as Draco desperately attempted to stand his ground, and to protect them both.

Hermione hurled a binding spell at Greyback, who whirled away from it and grinned at her, when suddenly, another hex from behind, between her and Draco, and hit the female Death Eater full on her torso. She went down with a shriek of pain. A second later a figure with long pale hair ran past the girl, and a powerful voice shouted a curse toward the intruders. The voice barked: "BACK, YOU TWO! INTO THE HOUSE!"

Hermione's gaze briefly took in the sharp, handsome profile in the firelight, so familiar and strange, and she realized that Lucius Malfoy stood before her and Draco, protecting them both. The older Malfoy cried: "_Protego_!" and shielded his son and the girl.

"Mione, now!" Draco yelled, and shoved her behind him. He raised his wand to strengthen his father's shield; increasing their chance of survival.

More or less running backwards, holding their wands in front of them to keep the shield intact, the two Malfoys withdrew side by side, towards the door; Hermione ran into the manor, ready to seal the door the moment father and son crossed the threshold. She took her place beside a tall, slim woman with blond hair standing behind the door, several portraits were shouting warnings and demands, but in the noise of the battle outside she couldn't understand anything.

Glass shattered as a hex hit the window near the door entrance the same moment Draco and Lucius reached it. Shoving his son behind him, the older Malfoy flashed a final spell at the intruders, then the two women slammed themselves against the door and closed it. A second later Lucius set several wards along the front of the house, as Draco and his mother repaired and sealed the window.

For a long moment, the little group stood in the entrance hall, panting. Then Narcissa's shaky voice whispered: "What … what happened? How could they get in?"

"The ward at the gate came down, obviously!" one portrait inhabitant called angrily.

"Hell bells, who was so stupid to remove the ward?" a sharp-nosed witch in a renaissance style robe snarled.

"QUIET, all of you!" Lucius shouted. He slowly turned to his son with a fierce glare. Then he saw the witch who stood beside him, and growled deep in his throat. The look he gave his son said one thing – he was in VERY hot water!

Then a crash against the front of the house, strong enough to make the floor shiver, then silence again.

"The house wards will not hold them for long, son!" the thin portrait wizard with the Malfoy hair and eyes addressed the current patriarch, who snapped: "I know, Father!" His thoughts whirled after a solution. "Cissa, take Draco and Miss Granger with you and-"

"No, Lucius!" his wife interrupted. "I will not leave you to them!"

Angrily Lucius whirled around to her, pointing at the entrance. "If we are lucky, this thing will hold for another minute, then Lestrange and the others will come like a tidal wave! So take this stupid wanderer that is our son and … _what are you doing_?" These last words were directed at Hermione, walked to a large round table in the middle of the entrance hall, decorated with a beautiful wintry flower arrangement, and waved her wand. She focused on the flowers to calm her pounding heart, to draw out one happy memory – a powerful one that filled her: her first night in Draco's arms.

"_Expecto Patronum_!" White light broke from the tip of her wand, and forming a scampering otter that soared around her as if in water.

"Impressive, but no use against Lestrange!" Lucius snapped impatiently; thinking once again that Muggle-borns really were stupid. But he was ignored as Hermione whispered something to her Patronus. It vanished through the wall on the other side of the room.

"And was that supposed to _help_, young lady?" the painting of Abraxas Malfoy sneered at Hermione, probably wondering what kind of DADA was taught in Hogwarts these days.

"No time for chatting," Lucius snarled. "We have to build a barrier and…"

A loud crash and the four whirled, only to see every window blasted inward. Narcissa screamed, while her husband pulled her to him and covered both their faces. Draco pushed Hermione under the table, as shards rained down on them. With a quick wipe of his wand, he freed her, his parents and himself from the dangerous debris, only to gasp as fire started to eat the curtains. Lucius sent a dousing spell at them, but the burning fabric was soon the smallest of their worries.

Another explosion, and the large wooden door burst inward. Lestrange and his fellows used this chance. Materializing out of black smoke, they appeared in the entrance hall, looking about. Lucius shoved his wife behind the table, tumbled it over and dived behind it for cover. The beautiful arrangement fell to the floor and vanished in a bolt of flames, ignited by one of Dolohov's curses. Lucius sprang up and hurled new hexes at his former comrades, then ducked down again to avoid counter spells. Hermione and Draco were following his example, keeping the Death Eaters busy, while the young wizard had to fight to hold his mother down, who wanted to join the fight. The portraits were shouting insults and threats, but were damned to helplessly watch the enfolding drama or flee. It was only a question of seconds until their only cover – the thick wooden table – would be turned to flames, and reveal them defenceless to Lestrange and the others.

The Death Eaters tried to circle them now, and would have been successful if not for two tiny shapes appearing in the hall, adding more spells against the intruders.

"You will not harm my young master!" the shrill voice cried, while Pipsy used her own magic to protect the son of the house for whom she had recently grown so fond.

Another house elf flung up both hands and Greyback flew backwards through the air, only stopped by a wall. He slid to the floor with a groan. "Sniksy shows nasty beast its place!" the small sprite shouted in outrage. Then he hopped over to Lucius and piped: "Jiggles is taken floo network to the Ministry help to get, Master!"

"Good!" was all Lucius could say, concentrating on obstructing the attackers. If one of them got around them, they would be slaughtered. One of his spells hit properly, and one of the Death Eaters fell, stunned and unconscious, but it came with a price.

Rabastan flung a new curse at Lucius, his eyes gleaming with hate and sick anticipation: "_Sectum sempra_!"

Only Draco's quick reaction saved his father from the worst, as he buried his free hand in Lucius' robe and dragged him down. But the curse that worked like a knife slashing left a gash on his father's forehead. It began to bleed immediately, blinding him. For a second, the boy was distracted, but gave two Death Eaters a moment to slip around the table. Draco saw the movement, then Pipsy collected all her magical powers and sent one of the two attackers backwards, crashing him, too, into the wall, but the second Death Eater lifted his wand and flung its tip toward Narcissa.

Hermione reacted instinctively. "BEHIND YOU!" She dragged the older witch aside and shoved her down. She gasped at the heat of a full extended killing curse flashed beside her in the floor, leaving a smoking gash at the spot Narcissa was no more. For moment Narcissa could only stare at the girl, knowing she would be dead now if not for the girl's actions, then they were both back in the present.

"_Crucio_!" Vesuvia screeched, but Draco was faster, covering the two women with a shield charm, but it only delayed the inevitable. A moment later the heavy table they were using as protection exploded. Lucius, nearly blind from the blood, dove over his son, trying desperately to protect him from the flaming splinters.

Pipsy and Sniksy leapt onto the backs of their master and the young witch, blocking the curses which were immediately hurled at the now defenceless victims, but Lestrange shot a stinging jinx at Sniksy, and the elf fell, screaming in pain. Hermione and Narcissa were exposed. Hermione swiped her wand. "_Expelliarmus_!"

Lestrange ducked and the charm hit the attacker behind him. His wand flew straight to Hermione, who snapped it up mid-air. This brief distraction was enough for Greyback to leap across the room at her and taker her by the neck; his left hand clamped about her small wrist. "Got ya, Sweetmeat!"

Hermione didn't hesitate, but rammed the tip of the captured wand into his ugly face, stabbing his left cheek. The werewolf howled in pain and fury, but he didn't loosen his grip around her neck. And then suddenly Greyback yanked his hand from her neck as if from a hot stove – and the Eye of Horus shone from her sternum like the sun, distracting another Death Eater long enough for Lucius to bring him down. Using this brief opportunity, Hermione stomped Fenrir's toes as hard as she could. He howled, but had the presence of mind to wrap his arm around her waist and pick her up.

Narcissa pointed her wand at the werewolf to help the girl, but she couldn't use her magic, because Draco was suddenly there. Lunging at the werewolf with a shout of rage, Draco attacked Greyback with wand and fist, and the werewolf had to release Hermione to defend himself against the pale fury assaulting him. Hermione fell hard, and rolled away from the whirling feet of Draco and Greyback, who now fought for more than their lives. This was a fight of rivals for the same female, and the wrath of young Malfoy, seeing this monster touching his Hermione, was strong enough for two.

Narcissa tried to block Dolohov and two others, boldly supported by a furious Pipsy, while Hermione came back on her trembling legs, hoping to help Draco's parents, but it was clear that they had lost their shelter. And as Rabastan launched himself at the older Malfoy who was battling with three other Death Eaters, both men went down. Narcissa saw it and screamed, "Lucius!" but she had no opportunity to come to his aid, because she and Hermione had to face the rest of the Death Eaters now, who were now aiming wands at the two witches. They could do nothing more than conjure a new shield charm, knowing it must fail eventually.

Greyback tossed Draco away from him with a savage growl, then kicked him in the belly. He then shouted again at the others: "Not the girl! She is mi-"

Hermione, seeing Draco on the floor in pain, whirled around and shot a knee-reversal hex at the werewolf. With a cry of shock, Fenrir fell, his knees appeared at the back of his legs, making it impossible for him to walk. Cursing, moaning in pain, he tried to move but was kicked in the head as Lestrange and Lucius stumbled over him in their duel.

Assion aimed his wand at Draco who fought for breath and fought to rise, but Narcissa was quicker. "Not my son!" she yelled, directing her shield over her only child, while Hermione and an injured Pipsy tried to cover her back; realizing in horror that everything would be over very soon. This was a fight to the death, and they had lost all cover.

"_Expelliarmus_! _Pertificus totales_! _Stupfey_!" The young witch hurled spell after spell around her, ignoring her own injuries. The only thing that moved her was to protect Draco. Her own safety was of no concern. If she was to die here, she would take as many Death Eaters with her as possible, and would defend Draco to her last breath.

Suddenly, thick white smoke swirled around them, hurling several Death Eaters away. And then they were there.

_The Aurors! _

And it changed everything.

The battle now escalated exponentially. Hermione recognized Proudfoot, Hank Trees and Robards, who swiped their wands with deadly assurance. White and black fought as both sides apparated forward and backward. Two more Death Eaters fell unconscious, while an Auror stumbled backwards, grazed by a curse that had sliced his left arm open.

The moment the Aurors appeared, Lestrange paused to look around – enough time for Lucius to do something wizards rarely did. He punched the other man in the face with all his might, and felt the satisfying crunch of bone. Proudfoot was suddenly beside him, shielding him, but Malfoy didn't stop. He was fighting for his home and family against invaders. Wiping his sleeve over his bleeding forehead, he fought side by side with the older Auror, his fury giving him the power to go on, flashing curses and hexes at everyone in a black cape.

And then it was over. Rabastan, barely able to speak, slurred: "Wishdraw! Now!" before he grabbed Vesuvuia and disapparated. Greyback melted into black smoke like Dolohov and the others were doing, fleeing through the destroyed windows, immediately pursued by the Aurors. Only Proudfoot and Trees remained behind to make sure the four unconscious Death Eaters were firmly bound and transported to prison.

Panting, sweating, torn and blood covered, Lucius Malfoy looked at Proudfoot, who swore quietly. Raising an eyebrow, he took the other wizard by the shoulder. "That looks bad. Hold still and let me heal it."

The Malfoy-patriarch wanted to avoid the Auror, but the older man held him still and pointed his wand at the deep cut. "_Vulnear Sanetur!" _He repeated the healing charm three times; his hoarse voice came out in a soothing singsong. Lucius held still while the edges of the cut melted together. It was quite unpleasant, but it spared him a trip to St. Mungos.

Hermione and Narcissa were helping Draco to his feet. He still clutched his belly and groaned in pain. His mother gently waved her wand, using the healing spells she mastered at sixteen, while Hermione stood back. Her heart went out to him, who had taken the beating willingly to save her. _Was it any wonder that she had fallen for him?_

Trees stood by, observing them for a moment, taking in their appearance: torn, tousled, bruised and exhausted they stood there, the entrance area looking like a bomb had gone off. The windows were destroyed, glass and wood splinters covered the floor, holes were burned into the expensive carpets, curtains were smouldering, portraits deserted. Two house elves sat holding each other, and a third glanced from the large fireplace from which the Aurors had appeared in the room.

Hank grimaced. And at the centre of the mess? Young Malfoy and the war heroine Hermione Granger, best friend of Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley_. _Those two had a tendency to get into trouble. By now he was sure of it.

Trees took a deep breath and looked back at Lucius. The injury had been closed, but an angry scar showed the power of the curse. He would need the help of a real healer. But, for the moment, it had to wait.

"What happened here? How did Lestrange and the other get past the wards? How is it that one of your house elves had to send for help – again!" His tone was cool, his face almost expressionless.

Lucius, who could practically feel the resentment of the other man on his skin (the feeling was mutual), snorted, then glared at his son with open anger. "Because that fool over there removed them to pass through the gate, with no more consideration than a Sunday morning constitutional!"

Draco gulped but looked at his father without blinking. He knew that this was his fault – partly – but he had no choice in this matter. Trees turned to the young man, frowning deeply. "Pray tell, _why_ you did this? Were you trying to get yourself and your parents killed? Have you no -?"

"You will not use that tone in my house to my son, Mr. Trees!" Narcissa snapped. "I will not tolerate it!"

"Apologies, Ma'am," the Auror sneered, "but your _son_ was obviously not in his right mind when he removed the wards and made you all vulnerable. So if I may-"

"The ward would not have allowed Hermione to pass, and therefore I had to lift it briefly so that we both enter the grounds!" Draco interrupted.

Hank directed his attention to the younger witch. "Which brings me to the next subject: _What_ are you doing here, Miss Granger?"

Hermione straightened and lifted her chin defiantly. Since she learned how this man treated Draco – and hadn't changed – she had developed a deep dislike for him. "Isn't it allowed to visit a friend?" she asked curtly, lifting a brow.

"A 'friend'?" Trees repeated, while Lucius frowned and shot another glance at his son. _Friend_?

Returning the heat in the Auror's glance, the Muggle-born witch replied, "Yes, a friend! Do you have a problem with that?"

Proudfoot stepped forwards, raising both hands. "Of course not, Miss Granger. Seeing two Head-Students from rival houses becoming allies is an excellent example for other Gryffindors and Slytherins. But you two especially should understand the danger that can arise from strolling around in public." He waved one hand, his tone grew serious, but not unkind. "This isn't the first time Lestrange and the others attacked Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, and you, young man, faced your uncle at Hogsmeade. Minister Shacklebolt even arranged that you two, together with Mr. Potter and the Weasleys, would not have to ride home on the Hogwarts Express like your schoolmates, but were transported separately to your families. This was to keep you safe. So please understand that we are shocked to hear that Mr. Malfoy was outside the wards of these grounds and even lifted them to allow you in, which also means that you have left your secure home in Muggle-London to come here."

"I also want to know where you were all day!" Lucius added, facing his son, the terror past and the emotion turning to anger.

The older Auror blinked. "He wasn't here?"

"No, he wasn't!" Lucius nodded, fixing Draco with a glare. "He left a NOTE that he had taken a trip with his new broom, promising he would be back for the afternoon tea. He was late!"

Draco sighed, knowing that now was the time to admit a few things. "I was in London," he said, "visiting Hermione." He heard his mother take a sharp breath. His father's eyes narrowed. "I hid my broom in Kensington Gardens and apparated to her home, intending to stay only an hour, but it took longer." He rubbed his hurt temple, seeing the blood on his fingers as he lowered his hand. "We went to the British Museum and…" he breathed deeply, "and then Lestrange and his fellows were there, and they attacked us and-"

"WHAT?" Hank stared at him with open mouth, looking dumbfounded. Then he pointed toward the city. "Were you two responsible for the chaos in the British Museum?" His voice almost cracked.

"What do you mean 'responsible'?" Hermione snapped indignantly. "Draco and I were visiting an exhibition there along with hundreds of other people, and from one moment to the next, Death Eaters were chasing us through the building. That wasn't our fault!"

Lucius, who could barely stomach the unbelievable knowledge that his son befriended this Muggle-born witch and flew to _London_, only to get into a fight with Rabastan, addressed Proudfoot. "What happened in London?" If the wizarding world knew about a problem among the Muggles within minutes, it had to be really big.

The older auror snorted. "There was another robbery in the museum, this time in the late afternoon while the exhibition was still open and crowded with visitors. There was an explosion and the people panicked. Their pleezmen were everywhere, along with their healers and the Muggle version of my co-workers and me. Half the town is upside down."

Beside him Trees groaned, directing his next question at both students. "When Lestrange attacked you, I can imagine what happened. How many Muggles saw you doing magic?" he could imagine the number of Aurors, trying to find the non-magical witnesses and obliviate dozens of them.

"Only one. And I oblivated her after we brought her to safety," Draco reported, and Proudfoot lifted a brow.

"Her? Who was it?"

"An employee of the Museum, Angela Chapman," Hermione explained, deciding to stay as close to the truth as possible. "She showed us some artefacts and explained their meaning to us, as Lestrange appeared. Draco and I saw him and ran to the stairwell to disapparate from there without being seen, but Miss Chapman followed us when she saw the evil men wearing black. When we reached the stairs, Lestrange tried to kill her with the killing curse. We had no other choice than to shield her and to fight back. When we reached the ground floor, the museum security were coming and we fled toward the exit. There was an explosion somewhere behind us, and then everyone panicked. Draco and I put some distance between us and the museum and Miss Chapman followed us. We stopped when we thought we were out of danger. Draco oblivated her, and then we handed her to an ambulance team that was on its way to the museum. They took Miss Chapman with them to the next hospital. She won't remember any more than doing her job before the raid on the museum."

Proudfoot sighed and rubbed his face. "At least one thing went well."

It was that moment the other Aurors returned. And one thing they had in common: they were all singed and angry as hell. "They escaped!" Robards bellowed, holding Draco's Firebolt. Wordlessly he handed the broom to the young man, who sighed in relief when he saw it was still whole.

"Thank you."

"Dammit! This Lestrange gives me grey hair!" another member of the Aurors' Office growled, healing a gash in the leg of a comrade, while a third handed Hermione the bag she had dropped near one of the hedges when the blast threw her backwards.

"And it's certainly _my_ fault that he got away," the Slytherin-Prince mumbled bitterly, frowning.

Hank stared at him. "Don't be a fool! Of course it's not your fault."

"That's a new tune," Draco retorted, temper rising to the surface. Too much had just happened, too much adrenalin was still streaming in his blood, plus he still felt too guilty about everything.

"Draco!" his mother scolded softly, but he continued to glare at Hank Trees, while in the background a young wizard with black hair activated the floo network to talk with a co-worker at the Ministry.

"You have to admit, you attract a lot of unwanted attention," the blond Auror snapped back. "You were in the middle of that skirmish in Hogsmeade, you got attacked in Hogwarts and-"

"_WHAT_?" Lucius stared at Trees, then at his son, and then back at the Auror, who wore a surprised expression.

"You didn't know, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked, then he looked at Draco, whose face was growing red, his expression dark. "You still haven't told your parents that you were attacked at school?"

Hermione groaned inwardly, cursing the Auror to hell and back, while Narcissa – still beside her son – looked shocked. "You … you were _attacked_?" she whispered, placing a hand on his arm.

Draco only looked at his father, asking himself if it could get any worse. "During a night patrol," he admitted, waiting for the thunderstorm to break loose, but to his astonishment his father remained calm. _'__Possibly because strangers are present.'_

"Who attacked you?" the Malfoy-patriarch demanded quietly.

"I don't know. I didn't see anyone, because he, she or they attacked from behind. Hermione found me after I didn't show up at our rendezvous."

The steel grey eyes of the older Malfoy found Hermione's. "You seem to have a flair for getting to my son just in time to help him." Not knowing how to reply, Hermione kept silent, and felt Draco stiffening beside her, as his father addressed him again: "Draco, why didn't Professor McGonagall inform me? It is her duty to call the parents of the students, if something happens to them ... unless the student is of age ... and asks her not to."

Draco took a deep breath and replied: "Because I asked her not to." He heard his mother gasp and saw a new revelation written on his father's face, and added quickly: "You would have come straight to Hogwarts, leaving the safety of the manor. I didn't want to put you in danger."

Trees spoke again. "And didn't you do a fine job at that when you lifted the wards just now."

The grey eyes of the Slytherin-Prince shot daggers at the younger Auror. "For the last time, I had to lift them to allow Hermione to pass!"

"And why did you bring that … that girl _here_?" the older Malfoy groused.

"_Lucius_!" Narcissa scolded indignantly. "Miss Granger just saved my life!"

Jaw slack, Draco looked at his mother and then to Hermione, who blushed slightly. It must have happened during the fight. He didn't notice anything while he was struggling with Greyback. He also knew that his mother wouldn't lie about a thing like that – especially to his father. So, without Hermione, his mother would be dead now – and an intense gratitude washed over him, then he pulled the girl in a strong, brief hug, then did the same with Narcissa, holding her a bit longer.

Lucius frowned and grimaced. "If he hadn't brought her here, this wouldn't have happened at all. Better yet, he wouldn't have flown to London in the first place. We would all be sitting down to a nice dinner, enjoying the evening instead of fighting for our lives!"

Robards, who had ended his talk with the Ministry at the fireplace, came toward him. "I talked with Skylish. He'll send a healer over from St. Mungos, so you don't have to go to the hospital." He looked at Trees. "What happened here?"

Briefly, Hank reported what he had found out, and Robards groaned, rubbing his temple. "Usually I'd say that everybody makes mistakes, but this..." He looked back at the blond Auror. "And Lestrange and the others were the ones behind the attack at the museum?"

"It seems my son and the girl ran into him and his comrades during their visit there," Lucius confirmed, still keeping his anger in check. _'Just wait, boy, until I'm done here. You will have to answer some very uncomfortable questions and I will make certain that you'll receive the tongue-lashing of your life. Visiting this Mudblood, strolling with her through London as if you two were on a date, then bringing that filth HERE!' _His glance found Narcissa, who looked almost gently at the young witch, and groaned inwardly. It seemed the damn life debt was already kicking in.

Robards rubbed his chin, as he watched the little house elf. It was the same one that came running into his office via fireplace several seconds after a Patronus in form of an otter had informed him of an attack on Malfoy Manor. Clearing his throat, he raised his voice to ask his question.

"So, who sent the Patronus?" he asked, glancing at Lucius. He doubted that the otter was sent by that Pureblood. Something as innocent and merry as an otter could never be the reflection of the soul of this man!

Hermione, who stood beside Draco, cleared her throat. "That was mine," she said.

Proudfoot looked at her. "A Patronus as messenger is very advanced magic. Quite unusual, too. It only is known among the members of the Order of the Phoenix. You never joined."

A smile nearly reached her lips. "Harry, Ron and I were never members of the Order, but we were schooled by Remus Lupin and the others. Of course we know how to use the charm to use them as messengers."

Draco, still shaken by the fact that his mother had almost been killed, glanced down at her; pride in his eyes. This was his girl: keeping a cool head in a wicked situation and finding a logical solution. Then he glanced at the older Auror. "By the way, Minister Shacklebolt used his Patronus to inform the entire school that he was coming for the Christmas party. So a messenger Patronus is no secret."

Robards nodded, still obviously impressed by Hermione. This girl really was a huge asset to the wizarding world. "Well done, Miss Granger. If we were at Hogwarts, I would award your House fifty points for knowing such advanced magic."

Again Hermione blushed, and answered: "Thank you, but Slytherin would have gained fifty points, too, for it was Draco who saved Miss Chapman and me by staying behind and fighting Lestrange and the others off, well hidden from Muggle eyes."

She saw the surprise on Lucius' face, heard Draco chuckling beside her as he brushed his fingertips over the back of her hand

Robards and Proudfoot smiled tiredly, then the Head-Auror cleared his throat. "Well, we have some work to do here. We will replace the wards and add to them. Mr. Proudfoot has just finished his inspection of Hogwarts and has also added new measures to the school's protection. I do think the same safety measures are in order here, as well."

"I will need perhaps an hour," Proudfoot nodded.

"Right, and the others will help clean up the chaos here." His saw the two injured house elves and he addressed another Auror. "Andrew? Take a look at those two there!" he pointed at Pipsy and Sniksy.

Draco and Hermione followed his gesture, and she cried out in compassion when she saw the state the two house elves were in. "Oh no, you poor little ones!" she whispered and ran to them, ready to perform healing charms.

Draco sighed inwardly. "And I vowed that I would _never_ let her near our house elves!" he moaned, and closed the distance to her. But when he saw their state, he winced in sympathy, too. Pipsy had a gash at her temple. She looked hurt, confused, and very upset. Draco felt something very like compassion stirring. The little house elf was not only very loyal to him, she also really liked him – something that wasn't common in his family. Without hesitation he lifted his wand and murmured a healing spell, ignoring the wide-eyed surprise of the tiny sprite. As the wound was closed he watched her closely. "Feeling better?" he asked, remembering the joy on Pipsy's face as he had wished her 'Happy Christmas'.

Tears welled up in her oversized eyes as she turned them toward him. "Yes, Master Draco, Pipsy is like new. Thank you, young master, thank you for helping Pipsy!" she choked out and gasped as she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, patting her comfortingly. Through tears, she saw the strange young witch looking down at her, wearing a gentle smile.

"You are welcome, Pipsy. I know Draco has enjoyed helping you." Then she concentrated again on Sniksy, who was beaten up, too and stared cautiously at her.

Lucius watched the whole episode, speechless. Had the whole world gone mad? Since when did his son make such a fuss about a house elf? And since when did his wife ... look at a Muggle-born ... as if she were a _family member_?

Beside him. Robards chuckled, then turned his attention to the master of the house. "All right, we will need some time, Mr. Malfoy. We'll start with the gates, then the doors, then the interior, if you'll allow."

Still torn and filthy from the battle, the Malfoy-patriarch was once again the cool and confident lord of the manor. "Of course, Mr. Robards, my wife and I are very grateful for your assistance here. I would like to invite you and your team for dinner and some refreshment afterward, seeing as you were put through this harassment because of the youthful indiscretions of my son."

The older Auror tilted his head toward Lucius and replied softly, "Don't be too harsh with your son, Mr. Malfoy. After he was confronted by Lestrange and had to fight for his and Miss Granger's life, he certainly did the best you could ask for. And he surely didn't put you in danger on purpose."

Lucius snorted. "Our front garden and entrance is destroyed and we got almost killed." He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "I will talk with him and I will send a letter to Minister Shacklebolt, apologizing for the mess."

"It was neither your fault nor your son's. Lestrange is a skilled and dangerous wizard, with no scruples. If he crosses paths with those he is determined to hunt down, he is difficult to stop. Your son and Miss Granger are very lucky to be still alive. But then, both have proved more than once that they are quite capable. Just give it a rest, and please don't rip your son's head off. He has been through a lot, perhaps even more than you."

With a huff Lucius crossed his arms, while he watched this unlucky fellow, his son, and the Muggle-born witch moving away from the three house elves, having just healed the two injured ones.

"We will begin now," Robards said beside him and Malfoy nodded, waving the Auror away.

"Of course, as you wish."

The Head-Auror walked to the opening of what was the magnificent front double doors, three of his men in tow, while four other Aurors levitated the stunned and bound Death Eaters and disapparated with them. Trees and another Auror spoke quietly together in the entrance hall, surveying the damage, glass crunching beneath every step.

Gritting his teeth for a moment, Lucius collected himself. Then he turned on his heel and pointed at his son and his involuntary guest, then up the stairs, eyes flashing. "You two: my office! _Now_!" He strode up the long staircase, his torn robes flapping behind him.

Hermione gulped, feeling very much out-of-place. A glance at Draco's face told her that he wasn't very pleased, either. Then his hand found hers and squeezed it reassuringly. They both took a deep breath and followed his father.

He knew that the next minutes could be hell…

TBC…

_I do think I didn't promised too much. Hermione's return to Malfoy Manor and being in the middle of a fight there (WITH the three Malfoys as her comrade in battle, so to say). And concerning the next chapter I can already tell you that there will be a hell of conversation between Lucius and the two Head-Students of Hogwarts (and that is going to learn some shocking news)._

_I hope you liked the last chapter and I would head over heels to receive some new comments, how you liked it._

_Have a nice weekend and a good start into the next week,_

_Love you all,_

_Yours Lywhn_


	51. The Secret is Out

_Hallo, my dear Readers._

_Thank you so very, very much for all the reviews. I'm so happy and head over heels that I'm receiving so many reactions from you, you can imagine me bouncing like a little child here._

_Yeah, our dear couple is about to face some trouble from Lucius, who isn't this happy about everything (as you're certainly expecting). But you shouldn't underestimate him. He is, after all, a very intelligent man and does understand real problems for the wizardry world. Nevertheless Draco and Hermione can be lucky to have each other, when they're going to face a enraged Malfoy-patriarch. And, in the end, there will be a nice surprise._

_I do hope you're going to like this new chapter like the last both,_

_Have fun,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 50 – The Secret is Out**

Lucius Malfoy stomped up the stairs, turned left and strode down the hall. Draco and Hermione followed him, trying to keep up, but the master of the house was already through the door to his office before the couple reached the top of the stair. With a pounding heart, Hermione followed Lucius, Draco stepping aside as a gentleman and allowing her to go first, a gesture she would have preferred to skip. Every second outside that room was heaven.

Swallowing the heart in her throat, she crossed the threshold and dared a quick look around her. The furniture was heavy and dark, polished to a mirror finish as only a house elf would do it. A large conference table was on her right, flanked by six padded high-back chairs, in front of a tall open fireplace. The fireplace was decorated with intricate figures carved in the stone. Two light brown Arabian carpets contrasted with the almost black tiles, harmonized beautifully with the sand-coloured walls. The portraits on the walls were mostly empty, the subjects probably directing recovery work on the floor below. Two windows, almost reaching from the floor to ceiling, were lead framed and flanked by dark green velvet curtains. To her left, an enormous chairman-of-the-board desk in the same style as the other furniture, its surface covered with parchments, sketch pads and account books. Two broad armchairs for visitors were set before it and an overstuffed executive desk chair in dark green leather was between the desk and the wall of built-in bookshelves behind it. A dozen different candelabras in silver spilled a warm and inviting light, and in the fireplace flames sent sparks up the chimney into the winter evening.

It was a room Hermione would have instantly felt comfortable in, if not for the owner, who stood behind his desk glaring at the two of them. "Close the door, Draco!" Lucius commanded, leaning on the desktop. His head bowed and it was obvious that he was trying to collect his composure, to hold his temper in check. Draco pushed it closed and laid a hand on Hermione's back. They moved further into the room and stopped in front of the desk; knowing it wouldn't be wise to sit just yet.

Lucius took a very deep breath through his nose and straightened, then looked at his son. For a long moment, there was only silence and the ticking of an old mantelpiece clock. Then the master of the house asked calmly, "You know what you did, Draco, don't you?"

Draco, knowing that this was the calm before the storm, nodded slowly. "Yes, Father."

"Explain!" he demanded quietly.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Draco began. "I had to lift the wards to-"

"I heard what you told the Aurors, Draco, I was there! What I don't know is why _she_ is here at all, and why you risked your life to fly off to London! I don't know what possessed you to 'visit' this person in the middle of your holidays and to stroll with her through that accursed Muggle world of hers! And I certainly don't know what you're up to!"

"Up to? What can you mean, Father?" Draco frowned, knowing that he was walking on thin ice – _too_ thin, as his father's heated reaction now proved.

"Don't try my patience with a stall! You vanish without a word for hours and return in the evening with a _Gryffindor_ and a horde of murderers on your heels! They invade our home and nearly kill us all!" His voice was rising and pink crept into his cheeks. With a short flick of his wand he sealed the room with a silencing charm, then: "I want to know what's going on here, son. I do think I have the right to know the real damn reason for the untidiness downstairs, beginning with you taking off to London and ending up in a _Muggle_ museum!"

"Well, the broom was just sitting there, and I really wanted to try it out. And Hermione has been bragging about this museum since the beginning of the term, and we thought today would be a great opportunity to see it together, learn some history-" Draco began, but his father almost exploded.

"Don't give me that load of thestral droppings, Draco! _Sightseeing_? I've noticed you've developed a very strong interest in 'history' of late, especially Egyptian history, isn't it? You asked me questions about ancient Egyptian magic, about the origins of the Dark Arts! You asked me to do some 'research' about a three thousand-year-old Egyptian wizard, who had his own secret society! You sent me sketches of dolls that were a strong influence on the development of illusion spells! The dolls are covered with signs that indicate a _soul link_ that was used centuries ago! You buried yourself in the library for hours, leaving it in disarray with dozens of reports and books spread out over every surface, every one referring to an ancient dark magic rooted in the land of the Nile! And I am absolutely certain that, if I looked up that Muggle woman you met, I would learn that she specialized in Egyptian mystics and history! And I am also convinced that you two were in the Egyptian section when Lestrange and the others showed up. Need I go on?" He stared angrily at them, both still in their coats, both torn, bruised and looking very, very guilty. A muscle twitched in his cheek. "Would you therefore explain to me what is the genuine background for your sudden interest?"

Draco hesitated a moment, then swallowed. "Our visitors—"

Lucius' fist slammed on the desktop, making the inkwell and the quill bounce, along with the teens in front of him. "Stop codding me about some stupid 'riddles' your fellow students gave you, Draco Abraxas Malfoy!"

The Slytherin Prince seemed to shrink. When his father called him by all three names ...

Lucius didn't stop, his anger and the adrenalin from the last half hour were getting the better of him. "I want the truth, boy! I want to know _why_ you are so interested in ancient Egyptian magic! I want to know _why_ you are so intent upon discovering information about a wizard who died over three thousand years ago! I want the truth, young man, about what's really going on here _and_ in Hogwarts." He pointed to the floor into the direction of the entrance hall, his voice echoing from the walls. "And I want to know, why I have to learn from a bloody Auror that _my own son was attacked in school_, but _he kept silent_ about it even _after he returned home_!"

Feeling a tight knot in his stomach, heat and cold running through his body all at once, Draco murmured: "I didn't want to risk your safety by-"

This time the palm of the landlord slapped the desk, sounding like rifle fire. "What utter rubbish! Did you consider our safety this evening?" He glared daggers at his heir. "I will not tolerate deceit in this family, and I certainly do not allow _my own son_ to _stultify me_!" He bent forwards and braced himself on his hands again, his face red. "The truth, Draco. _Here! Now!_"

Mouth dry, Draco licked his lips. Draco's mind was racing to find a believable explanation for everything without giving too much away. But after the last two hours, his cool, witty Slytherin-logic had abandoned him. Cornered, he glanced down at Hermione, who glanced back. Her eyes were large and fearful.

Of course, this didn't slip Lucius' notice, and seemed to make him even angrier. "What is it?" he snarled. "Do you need her _permission_ to talk with your own father?"

New colour shot into Draco's face, but this time in irritation at the implied insult. It also awoke Hermione's defiance. "Draco needs permission from no one. He's his own man!" she snapped, returning the fiery gaze of the landlord.

Lucius hissed: "How reassuring!" Then he fixed his glare back his son. "Grindylow got your tongue? ANSWER ME!"

A guilty conscience plus exhaustion plus dread is one of the worst mixtures possible, and it didn't fail to affect Hogwarts' Head-Boy. Hermione realized that they had reached the point at which they had no other choice than to trust Lucius Malfoy with the entire story, and murmured, "Tell him!"

Draco's shoulders dropped, and he took a deep breath. Searching for the right words, he started quietly: "It all began with a strange cat and dog-like creature that chased away the werewolf in the Forbidden Forest during our first night patrol. That same cat attacked Uncle Rabastan before he could kill me in Hogsmeade-"

"I thought Miss Granger saved you," his father interrupted, still irritated, but willing to listen to the answers he had demanded.

Draco nodded. "She did. He was lurking in the shadows in the alley where Abdel and I were walking, just before the attack. Hermione saw him and pushed me out of the way," he glanced at the girl, and met her eyes. He felt something loosen in his chest, knowing that he wasn't alone in this. "It was the signal for the other Death Eaters to attack. I faced Lestrange again – this time alone. And then there was that black cat, probably the same as in the Forbidden Forest, and bit him in the back of the neck so that I could get away. And then, when I finally found Greyback who had taken Hermione, there came this… this wolf ... or dog ... again." He hesitated a moment and his father frowned.

"A wolf? There are no wolves in Great Britain anymore." He shook his head. "Continue!"

"It… it wasn't a wolf, but possibly a jackal. A very large one and … and it was unusual." Draco bit his lip. "It materialized out of shadows, and its mere presence drove Greyback almost out of his mind with fear, so badly that he suddenly let Hermione go and fled. The jackal raced after him."

"Quite fascinating," Malfoy said impatiently, "but what do those animals have to do with your research and what happened here?" Lucius snapped, gesturing around him.

"That's not everything," Hermione responded. She squirmed inside as she found herself the focus of the glare in the pale forget-me-not blue eyes. "We've also been tracking strange shadows in Hogwarts, shadows of animals, still partly human but with animal heads: a female with a cat head, and two males; one with a snake head, the other one with the head of a jackal."

The man's eyes grew wide, then he sneered: "Are you trying to tell me, Miss Granger, that _Egyptian gods_ have invaded Hogwarts?"

"It's true," Draco added. "At first we only saw shadows, but later we saw them as solid entities, Anubis, Bastet and Uraeus."

It took some time for the two students to explain what had happened since the term began almost four months ago. Lucius interrupted occasionally with questions, but let them continue. They told about the shadows in the halls, the manner the four fought during the raid of Hogsmeade, of the similarities of their guests' characteristics compared to those of their House gods, of the reports of burglaries in the museums around Europe whenever their guests were near, and finally they spoke of the night they witnessed the eerie exposures of the three Egyptian gods - the night they found the dolls and Hermione faced 'Anubis', before he transformed back into Edis.

Lucius Malfoy had grown silent, dropping into the green chair and listened carefully as Hermione added several more details to Draco's report, still not daring to sit.

"Each of the four put a doll on their beds, evading Hogwarts' security measures by creating substitutes for themselves in their dormitories – the dolls with the symbols. They also cast a sleeping charm over the other students in their room. Then Layla left the school, while Edis, Abdel and Neriman remained in Hogwarts, making certain that any other witnesses were sleeping, too, the portraits and such. That same night the British Museum was robbed the first time – in the hours Layla was away."

"They used sleeping charms?" Malfoy asked.

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I checked Ginny and the others, and I couldn't wake them up, no matter what I did."

"It was the same in the Slytherin-dorm," Draco confirmed. "I couldn't wake any of the lads."

"And then I found one of those dolls on Neriman's bed," she continued. "It was the same in the Ravenclaw-tower, where I drew the sketch Draco sent you. When I was leaving, I had to hide and saw Edis return in the shape of Anubis before he re-transformed, like I said. He and the other two were in the shapes of their house gods the whole time."

"They were together in one of the hallways, standing there facing each other. They looked like they were in a kind of trance – or perhaps praying – and when Layla returned, they rushed away."

Lucius, who was trying to decide if he could believe this unbelievable news, rubbed his forehead. A headache was beginning, and not only from the blow he'd suffered earlier. The story finally sputtered to a halt. Considering it all for a moment, he pursed his lips. "A most interesting narrative," he said slowly. "But there are a few gaps. Perhaps you two would fill them in." His eyes fixed them both with alternating assessments. If they had made up this story to cover up something else, they wouldn't find the logical explanation for the contradictions they had reported in their last sentences. "How did you know that something was amiss with your house mates in those four bedrooms? How did you discover the dolls, and learn that your guests had cast a sleeping spell over the other students, _and, _on top of that, were able to witness these so called gods simultaneously? You'd have to be at two places at once – as those four pretended to be!" He crossed his arms, leaning back in the chair, and stared hard at them. "How did you know that they weren't in bed at all? How did it happen that you checked their dormitories and the hallways for them in the dead of night?"

When both Draco and Hermione paused and looked uncomfortably at each other, he understood that there was more going on. Possibly a lot more And he knew what it was. "You weren't working alone, weren't you? When you use 'us' you don't mean just the two of you." It was not a question.

Draco took another deep breath. "You're right, we weren't alone. Potter was watching the halls and alerted us while we checked on our house mates and the Ravenclaws."

Lucius groaned at the name and rubbed his temple. "Of course! Why did I even ask? Of course Mr. Potter is in on this! Whatever is going on at Hogwarts, that boy has his nose in it." He stared at Hermione. "And Weasley as well, correct?" Hermione's eyes narrowed, but she didn't say anything. He turned his attention back to his son. "Joined up with them, did you?"

Draco straightened. "I'm the Head-Boy at Hogwarts, and if something strange and possibly dangerous is going on, it's bloody well _my_ _duty_ to find out about it. And if there are other students who are trying to do the same, it's a waste of time and resources not to work together."

His raised a hand to stop him. "I don't want to hear about it, Draco. It's your decision whom you will work with – even if I'm somewhat taken aback that seven years of enmity seems to have vanished in four months."

"Could it be because we all grew up?" the Slytherin-Prince snapped, earning a sharp glance from the other man.

"Considering your actions today, I have my doubts on that score!" Shaking his head, Lucius leaned back in his desk chair, and looked at them closely. "There's more. Continue!"

Hermione responded. "Layla returned, and all four of them vanished back to their beds, we suppose. A few days later, after I wrote my mother, we learned that the British Museum had been robbed that same night – more evidence that the four are responsible for it. My mother also knew from our newspapers that artefacts from the Ramses dynasty were stolen recently from various places around Europe, and sent me more detailed information about the pharaohs of this time. So we learned about the conspiracy against Ramses III and that a dark wizard was among the traitors." Hermione spoke calmly and succinctly, leaving out the detail of the attack on Draco. It was up to him if he would tell his father about it.

"And? Wizards are found around the world, Miss Granger, even if _you Muggles_ don't see them!"

His dismissive implication raised her ire. With narrowed eyes she retorted clipped: "Please note, Mr. Malfoy, that I am a witch! True, my parents are Muggles, but _I'm not_!" Before he could retort, she continued, "Ramses III died, not by being poisoned or stabbed. His life was drained off, and several papyri report that the healers thought that Dark Magic was the reason. It is said that a dark wizard, who went by the name Penhuibin, was among the traitors – a wizard, who had his own society so to say."

"There's more," Draco added hastily, before his father could snarl at the girl who had dared to talk back to him. "The day after Hogsmeade, Death Eaters killed a centaur in the Forbidden Forest. And they weren't alone. Other centaurs reported feeling a very dark and ancient presence among them. It sounded like the feeling we all got from the creatures in the halls at the school."

Lucius stared. "A _centaur_ was killed?" He had been taught to despise the proud creatures, but he recognized the significance of the murder.

"Yes, by a killing curse, which the centaurs reported to McGonagall," Draco confirmed, then went on to explain what Harry had overheard between the centaur, the headmistress and Hagrid as he crept beneath the Great Hall. He did not mention Harry's invisibility cloak.

For a long moment Lucius studied both, pondering the information he'd just received. This story was too complex, too detailed to be made up as cover for something else. It sounded unbelievable, even insane, but on consideration of what he'd just been told, it was logical that the four Egyptians in Hogwarts were a) more than they appeared, b) possessed unheard of magical skills, far more advanced normal for their age, c) they were indeed planning something and d) that something held major ramifications.

He leaned forward in his chair. The two were still standing. "Assuming, only assuming, this is as you say, do you think your Headmistress is unaware that strange things are happening in Hogwarts? Do you really think your little group of conspirators are the only ones who are trying to find out what's going on? I have no great affection for McGonagall, as everyone knows, but she is an experienced, highly skilled and intelligent witch. And there is insight from the other Headmasters in those portraits in her office. Why is it falling to you to do the investigating?"

"The authorities do know," Draco nodded. "But they don't have all the information we do, and are searching in a wrong direction. They don't see the relationship between the shadows in school, the animals, and the museums being robbed. Even Shacklebolt assumes those burglaries can only be the work of wizards, because the Muggle security devices are bypassed by what could only be magic."

His father scoffed, "And how do _you_ come to know what Minister Shacklebolt thinks and knows?"

"The Egyptian Minister of Magic is here in Great Britain," Hermione said, earning a raised brow. _'__So, his visit wasn't made public?'_ she inferred.

"He came to the Hogwarts Christmas party with Shaklebolt, and they discussed all of this with McGonagall. We learned about that the same time as the murdered centaur," Draco sighed, but his statement only generated another question.

"You heard them talking? You were present at a conference between two ministers and the headmistress?" His incredulity was apparent.

"Harry listened in on them, using his invisibility cloak," Hermione admitted, knowing that everyone knew about it since Harry's last battle with Riddle.

Lucius' mouth twisted at this, then he commented dryly: "Of course, Mr. Potter again!" He pursed his lips – an expression Hermione had seen many times in his son. "What makes you so certain that this particular ancient wizard is the one the centaur referred to?" His tone was flat and hard.

Hermione exchanged another quick look with Draco, and explained quietly, "As we already said, we read about him in the documents my mother sent me. That put us on the track of Penhuibin, a dark wizard who studied in the library of Thebes where the first documents about black magic were stored. Something eerie happened during his trial, something taking the Egyptian magicians by surprise."

"It was these details that had to do with this man?" Lucius asked, bewildered again.

"The centaur who explained to McGonagall and the big oa – Hagrid—" Draco corrected himself, after a poke in the back, unnoticed by his father. "... and Hagrid ..." he shot her a glare, "that a man who lived in the land of light and wasteland where he'd been banished would rise again when the stars completed their cycle," the Slytherin-Prince recited. "A man who could cheat death. A man who found a way to return from death. A man powerful enough to find followers even in the present. And for this he would need living people to make his return possible."

"Land of light and wasteland – Egypt," Hermione added. "He was banished – not him, but it refers to his soul. Angela explained that Penhuibin-"

"-who had a loyal following, as you found in the parchment you gave me," Draco threw in.

"-and the other two main conspirators were sentenced to die by their own hand. Afterward, his body was burned. That way he had no chance for an afterlife and-"

"Stop!" Lucius interrupted. "Are you trying to tell me that someone who has been dead for three thousand years and whose body was turned to ash is about to return from the dead?" He shook his head. "_Ridiculous!_"

"Voldemort-"

"He wasn't _dead_, Draco, only weakened and crippled. And even he needed more than ten years to make it back and re-form his body. But he still was _alive_ and _had_ a body, after the killing curse meant for Potter backfired. This Penhuibin is only _ashes_ now. So how is he going to be raised?"

"Some old ritual, perhaps with blood. Blood is life, after all," Hermione said.

"And about his soul," Draco continued, "I found something in the reports you showed me and in our library here." He looked purposefully at his father as he said slowly, "Penhuibin must have preserved his soul in a kind of Horcrux." Lucius gaped at him. "Not a Horcrux like Voldemort used, but something very like it, a prototype of the Horcrux."

Hermione nodded. "The ancient Egyptian magic is still some of the most powerful, but many, many details got lost during the centuries. Papyri vanished, lore was forgotten, knowledge was obliterated in fires. The last terrible blow was when the library of Alexandria burned down, around 50 BC. We only can guess the kinds of magic the old Egyptians were able to perform – but I'm certain that there are still enough witches and wizards in the land of the Nile who still possess knowledge which is officially 'lost'. And if the society of Penhuibin survived all those centuries, they certainly know what to do to raise him from the dead."

Lucius was silent again for a long moment, thinking about everything he'd just heard. It all sounded so damn … logical! And it formed a full picture, even with certain parts missing. He pinched the bridge of his nose, realizing the enormity of this matter, if it truly was as his son and the Golden Trio had deduced. And again the thought occurred to him. "Why haven't you told McGonagall about what you know? Why this game of hide-and-seek? And why, by Morgana's holy hideaway, did you lie to me about the reason for your questions, Draco?" His son opened his mouth to respond, but Lucius continued with renewed irritation. "If this all is true, and there are people running around on this island who want to raise a Dark Lord from the dead, don't you think this might be beyond your ken?" This time Hermione began, but Lucius wasn't finished. "You are all navigating in some hellaciously dangerous waters. If that society still exists, and they are attempting to fulfil some outrageous prophecy or legend, then this is a case for the Ministry, and not children playing detective!"

"If we had told McGonagall, she would have questioned Abdel, Edis, Neriman and Layla immediately, demanding answers," Draco finally said. "And then they would have discovered that we know something, and would either change their strategy or possibly even vanish – and we would never be able to prevent what was to take place!"

"I am certain," Malfoy said darkly, "that McGonagall could be trusted with this knowledge, if you had shared with her all of those details."

"We still have no real proof – none we could present to McGonagall or even Shacklebolt," Draco explained. "If we'd find some of the stolen artefacts or could show the headmistress what the four are able to do, then they might believe us, but what will happen then? We have to find out when and where they want to perform this ritual in order to stop them. We can only find this out if they don't get suspicious."

"I see," the head of the house mumbled, leaning back in his chair, looking suddenly tired and nearly defeated. "So, what are you planning to do next?"

Hermione cleared her throat, replying meekly, "We learned much of the ancient Egyptians belief in the afterlife, wherein certainly lies the key." Then, warily, "And there are a few more leads we have to follow, before-"

"No more museum visits!" Lucius cut in. "The last one was catastrophic, and I really don't want to even guess what's happening in London right this moment."

Both students blushed. "The Muggles have no clue that it was Death Eaters, who-" Draco began, but Hermione suddenly gripped his arm.

"How … how did Lestrange know that we were even there?" She blinked several times, and her Head-partner nodded, as the importance of this question became apparent.

"Yes. If we had been somewhere in wizarding London, then one of them have seen us by accident, but in _Muggle_ London? At the British Museum? We apparated straight from your parents' garden to a park outside, therefore – whoever recognized us must have been there, too. What were they doing there?"

"And what were they doing in Yorkshire?" she asked, emphasizing her question with a finger poking in his chest. "The _Daily Prophet_ mentioned that they tried to get into a museum local history!"

Draco's eyes widened, taking her by the shoulder. "And what were they doing in the Forbidden Forest, when the centaur was killed? The other centaur who told McGonagall that 'ancient beings masked in human form' were in the area, and that he and the others could feel one of them moments before the victim was murdered. Ancient beings in human forms: Abdel and his friends. And one of them was _with_ Lestrange and his fellows when the centaur was killed, possibly doing it himself ... or herself, if recalling that the centaur was murdered with an unknown killing curse!"

Hermione witch gasped, now seeing it, too. "You know what this means, don't you? The Death Eaters and the secret society are working together!" She let her hand drop and groaned. "They are working together, but… but why? How?"

"Well, it could be-"

The sound of a throat being cleared interrupted them. "I _am_ still here, you two, and I don't appreciate being ignored in my own office!"

Both heads turned to the older Malfoy, who glared at them, then he addressed his son. "If this Penhuibin is as powerful as you two seem to think, then Lestrange has good reason to join with this ancient fellowship. And I can imagine that they promised him a reward he was unable to resist. The question here is, _if_ you are right, what is it Lestrange can do for them that they are not able to do for themselves?" He met two blank expressions and sighed: "If your four schoolmates are as skilled as you described, why would they need the help of an aging avenger, who isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, and with only a handful of weak minions? Dolohov was never the strongest, Greyback is more animal than human, the others are fools and that 'lady' only has eyes for Rabastan!"

"They are still searching for something, something very important," Hermione suggested. "And they need help to find it, because they're strangers here and don't know our country very well."

Lucius groaned. "Do you have an answer for every question, Miss Granger?"

"That's her to a T!" the Slytherin Prince sighed, smirking at his Head-partner, who stuck her tongue out to him; not seeing the baffled look of the older Malfoy. He took another deep breath and decided to ignore this little interaction that seemed alarmingly natural between his son and the unwelcome guest.

"Can you guess what they might still be searching for?" He resumed the topic.

Draco shrugged. "No, not really. But it must be very important, if they are asking another group of outcasts to help them, entrusting them with their plan."

"It must be very important, and they must have allies in important places," the young witch was thinking aloud. "That those four, of all people, were chosen for the exchange can't be a coincidence. This was planned well in advance so that they would be here, in Europe, and would have to stay a whole year in Hogwarts, in a country where the largest Egyptian exhibition outside of Cairo is located."

"And they are ready to do anything to pull it off," her partner grumbled – a comment that reminded Lucius of another subject that was bothering him.

"It occurs to me that this has everything to do with you being attacked in Hogwarts?" When he saw Draco's jaw clench, and the look of guilt in his eyes, his own became small. "Which of the four attacked you? Or was it Abd… Ande… what's the name of your new DADA teacher?"

"Abdelghani," Draco mumbled and sighed. "No, it wasn't he."

"Hm, if you're so sure about it, you must have seen your attacker," his father stated, and looked hard at him. "Who was it?"

His son sighed deeply, exchanged another quick glance with the girl, which was really beginning to try Lucius' patience. "This … it's not easy to explain," he finally mumbled and his father rolled his eyes, expelling an impatient breath.

"After everything I've heard in the last half hour, I don't believe anything can shock me!"

Again both students looked at each other, before Draco took a deep breath, pausing, ready to tell him. But his words weren't what the man expected. Not. At. All.

"It was a cobra."

It was a full ten seconds before Lucius was able to stomach this new detail and to get his mind wrapped around his son's words. "Excuse me?" _His son was making this up, wasn't he?_

"It was a cobra," Draco repeated, this time more firmly. "And not an ordinary one. It was large. Very large! Certainly two, three times larger than Nagini, if not bigger." He watched his father's unbelieving expression and went on. "I was in the dungeons on my way to the Hufflepuff-dormitory to check on them the night we found the dolls, and the British Museum was robbed the first time. I saw a ... a ... glowing ... fog floating down the stairs from the Entrance Hall, moving on its own. I followed it carefully and then, as I was about to close in on it, I heard a noise behind me, like metal scratching along stone. I turned around and there was a giant golden and silver serpent. And as it rose up, I saw it was a cobra."

Lucius' face had lost all colour. "Merlin…" he swallowed. If the snake really had been that large, then its poison would be instantly deadly.

Draco shrugged. "At first I kept still, remembering that you provoke serpents with hasty movements. When it approached, I tried to fight it, but … it swallowed my curse by spitting fire and the last thing I remember is the tail shot towards me, and I was hurled away against a wall. The next I know, I came around and Hermione was with me – and Potter."

The older Malfoy closed his eyes and lowered his head, then slowly looked up at his son again. "You could be dead," he whispered, shock written all over his face.

"I would be dead, if this beast had wanted to kill me," his brave son corrected him. "But it didn't want me dead."

Again lord of the manor was at a loss for words. Then, "Why didn't you inform McGonagall about what attacked you? This monster must be still-"

"It was Uraeus," Hermione revealed, and was once again in the focus his gaze. She noticed he looked almost vulnerable in his concern for his son, which made him more human to her than she had ever thought before. "Or, better said, it was Abdel, in the shape of Uraeus."

An angry pink crept again into the pale cheeks of the landlord, while a vein started to pulse on his left temple. "Then this boy tried to kill you, Draco! Why, for Merlin's sake, haven't you-"

"He didn't try to kill me, Father," the younger wizard interrupted, earning a look from Hermione that said:_ 'Have you finally realized it?'_ He grimaced at his father's expression, the most astonished he had ever seen.

Hermione cleared her throat and explained, "We rather think that he tried to protect Draco. It would probably have been very dangerous for him if he had reached fog, which turned out to be Layla."

"By… by _hurling him against A WALL_?"

"Yeah, interesting way to protect someone," his son grumbled, remembering the bruises he'd received. Dammit, he'd got beaten up more within these last four months than in all the years before!

The older Malfoy shook his head, obviously to clear it, then exclaimed: "But … this Abdel must know that you've seen him in his Animagus form! And you survived and-"

"I told everyone that I don't remember anything. Amnesia. And he believed it. I could tell when I joined him the next morning at our House table." A smirk spread over Draco's face. "It was he, no doubt. But, it certainly appeared that he was relieved that I was okay."

This time his father groaned. Shifting in his chair, he closed his eyes for a moment. Then he sighed. The headache was getting worse. "And considering all of this, you two would ask me not to contact McGonagall nor Shacklebolt to let them know what's really going on." Both nodded vigorously as he looked up and he snorted. "So here are my choices: either my son is safe again after returning to school, but those people in the underground are warned and no one will find and stop them in time. Or, I keep quiet about all this, risking your life, Draco, and your comrades', but spare us all an encounter with a three thousand-year-old Voldemort." He growled deep in his throat. "Superb!"

Before he could say any more, a knock came from the door, and Narcissa was heard: "Lucius? The healer is here to look on your injuries and to treat Draco and Miss Granger!"

Sighing, Lucius Malfoy took his wand and pinned his son with his eyes. "Not a word of this to your mother, Draco! She is upset enough! The same for you, Miss Granger. Not a word to my wife of what we have spoken here!"

The girl nodded. "Of course not!"

The man grumbled something beneath his breath, then flicked his wand and removed the silencing and locking charms, calling: "Come in, Cissy!"

His wife entered and looked quickly at her son, who gave her a reassuring smile. She exhaled visibly. "Healer Boneaux is in our salon, and he already treated three of the Aurors and Pipsy and Sniksy. Are you…"

"We are finished here," Lucius interrupted her, not unkindly, and shot his son another glare. "For now! But we will talk about this tomorrow, be sure of it! The last word is not yet given in this … this _matter_!" With a wave he gestured for them to go ahead, and followed them out of the room.

Healer Boneaux was a tall, greying wizard, stern and very quiet. With a frown, he examined the closed gash on the older Malfoy's forehead and then the bruises on Draco and Hermione. Half an hour later he was still busy with his patients.

"This must be treated carefully, young lady. No infections later," he stated with his deep voice, while he mixed a tincture after he had closed the cut. Hermione hissed as the fluid stung the newly- healed skin and closed her eyes, as the man pressed a bandage pad on it. "Hold it here and keep still. Mr. Malfoy, please, stay put! I want to spare you a scar that will be seen for years!" With a growl, Lucius sat back down.

Draco, whose shoulder was treated, smirked as he watched his father. When it came to being doctored, both were very much alike. Carefully, he took a glass with water which Pipsy – wearing a bandage on her head – had brought him and the others only a minute ago, and emptied it. The landlord snorted. "So, how long has this compressed- Yes, Mr. Trees?"

Frowning, he stared at the Auror who had suddenly appeared in the doorway. "My apologies, Mr. Malfoy, but we are finished. The wards are replaced and increased, allowing only those persons to cross them as the old ones did – this time including Miss Granger." This last part was pure mockery, and he earned four heated glares. He laughed to himself.

"Very well, Mr. Trees. Where is Mr. Robards?" the Malfoy-patriarch demanded, ignoring the taunt of the other wizard.

"Mr. Robards has asked to be excused, as an emergency has called him away. He asked me to thank you for your kind offer to stay for dinner, but he had to leave to help an employee in Wales. Something to do with two trolls, as far as I could tell."

Narcissa answered, "Of course, that is more important. Please tell him we understand, and that the invitation is only delayed, but not withdrawn."

Trees bowed politely, his face was expressionless. "Certainly, Ma'am." He nodded toward the others. "Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Malfoy, good ni-"

"Mr. Trees?" Lucius interrupted, and shrugged Boneaux' hand off his shoulder, as the healer attempted to keep him on his seat. He rose and addressed the second Head Auror coolly, "Could you escort Miss Granger back to her parents? London is not around the corner and-"

"Not in the next few hours, Mr. Malfoy!" Boneaux cut him off. "I'm not done here – neither with Miss Granger, nor with you or your son. I will need another hour to do this properly. I will not allow my patients to wander off before they're ready!"

For a long moment the two wizards glared at each other, then Tree's voice interrupted the silent duel. "Well, none of us can wait around here that long. We are needed in Wales, too." He grinned inwardly again, seeing the anger on the older Malfoy's face, and added generously, "But I am certain that in a manor this size, Miss Granger will find a place to rest. Good night, ladies, gentlemen!"

With a last bow of his head he vanished and left behind an exasperated landlord and a quietly jubilant Draco.

TBC…

_I do hope I didn't promise too much and that I managed to portray Lucius in character. I do understand that it is a kind of risk to reveal the most secrets to him, the Golden Trio and Draco were able to find out, but on the other hand he CAN help. After all he has a great knowledge about the Dark Arts and his family collected documents and books about it for centuries._

_Of course he will have a hard time to come to accept the 'beginning friendship' between his son and the Muggle-born witch, but there is still Narcissa and the Life-Dept that already kicked in concerning Hermione. I promise she and Draco will face a lot of things within the manor during the next days._

_In the next chapter Hermione learns that Lucius and his wife are not only the arrogant wizards she had come to know, but that they can also be simple parents, polite hosts and posses even a kind of dry humor. _

_I would love to read from you all again and how you the last chapter liked so far._

_Have a nice week,_

_Love you all,_

Lywhn


	52. A Different Home

_Hallo, dear Readers!_

_At first thank you so very, very much for the many reviews! I'm so happy about your reactions, I could bounce with joy._

_Well, you like the thought about Hermione staying a little bit longer at the manor? Just wait, I don't think you will be disappointed._

_The fallowing chapter will be a more sweet one, with some humour and suprises._

_I do hope you're going to like it._

_Have fun,_

_yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 51 – A Different Home**

Boneaux needed more than an hour until he was satisfied that the cuts and bruises wouldn't leave scars. Packing away his instruments, potions and ointments into a trunk (large enough to hide a hippogriff, before he shrank it) he gave his final instructions, how and which potion had to be taken for the next three days. Then Lucius escorted him to the next fireplace, lifted the new wards and bid him farewell. Then he turned around and looked at his wife, his son and their guest.

Silence spread across the room, before the landlord asked politely, "Miss Granger, your parents' house is certainly linked to the floo-network. Please-"

"Um, no, Mr. Malfoy," she said, "my parents aren't connected to the floo-network."

"No?" He waved a hand. "But every wizarding home-"

"Mr. Malfoy, do you have a telephone?"

Her question caught him by surprise. "A what?"

"A telephone," she repeated politely. "It's a device we use-"

"I do know what a tallephone is, Miss Granger. Please give my intelligence a little credit!" he replied sharply.

"I didn't intend to offend, Mr. Malfoy, but considering your intense – if unreasoned – dislike for Muggles, how should I know that you learned anything about them, let alone about their communication devices?" Her expression was deceptively innocent.

His nostrils flared for a moment, before he answered, "Only a fool would refuse to learn the most basic things about a world that exists parallel to their own and confronted by it every day."

Hermione gave a brief nod. "Very good. But coming back to the floo-network, it's usually in every wizarding household, just like a telephone is in every Muggle-household, so no, my parents aren't linked to the floo."

The older Malfoy suppressed a sigh. "Well, then we can tell Sniksy to-"

"Father!" Draco interrupted indignantly, jerking a thumb toward the window. "Somewhere out there Death Eaters are still lurking, waiting for us – including Hermione! If they learn about her family's whereabouts, she and her parents will be killed instantly!"

"Lestrange is certainly-"

"- still in the area, awaiting another chance!" Narcissa spoke up suddenly. "Pipsy and Sniksy are hurt and I will not order them to escort someone home. And Jiggles is too old to apparate farther than a mile at a time."

Bewildered by his wife's clipped tone, Lucius blinked. "But-"

"No 'buts', love! This situation is too serious. Miss Granger will remain here until it is safe for everyone to allow her to return home!"

For the third time that evening, Lucius stood speechless, while Narcissa – taking the matter into her own hands – looked at a very astonished Hermione. "I am certain you want to clean up and rest until dinner." She clapped her hands. "Pipsy?"

With a pop, the little house elf appeared, still patched, and curtseyed. "My lady Malfoy called Pipsy?"

She nodded. "Yes. Prepare one of the guest rooms near Draco's. Miss Granger will stay for a night or two." She looked at the girl. "This house is quite large, and with Draco nearby, you won't get lost." She glanced at her son and thought she saw an odd gleam in his eye, then it was gone. She sighed inwardly. Sometimes he was so very like his father! "Draco, please show Miss Granger the way, and make certain that she has all she needs to be comfortable. Dinner will be served in an hour, so I think you two have enough time enough to get cleaned up." She smiled politely at Hermione, whose eyes were wide as saucers. "I do understand that you have no clothes with you. I will have Pipsy alter one of my robes and shoes, so that you can change. If you anything, please let her know."

The house elf vanished with another 'pop', while Draco headed for the door, grinning at his Head-partner, who gasped, "Th-th-thank you, Mrs. Malfoy." Then she nodded towards his father. "Mr. Malfoy!" Rendered speechless by the kindness of Draco's mother, she took her bag and coat, and followed Draco out of the room. He had barely closed the door behind him when she stopped and whispered, "What … what just happened in there?"

Draco chuckled. "That was my mother deciding to like someone." Hermione's jaw dropped, and he added softly, "Mione, you saved her life by risking yours. Mine, too. Do you really think my mother would meet you with loathing after all you did for us?"

Hermione took a deep breath as Draco pulled her down the hallway. They passed several portraits, now re-inhabited, watching them curiously. "Fair maiden!" one was heard to murmur to another, and she blushed. They rounded a corner and they went up several stairs, a thick carpet muffling their footsteps. More paintings covered the sand-coloured walls, this time of landscapes Hermione recognized as England and regions of France. Tall candles in filigreed iron candelabras illuminated their passage down a corridor, lined with closed doors and Oriental rugs.

"And … you want me to stay here?" she asked, finding her tongue again.

Draco stopped, and waited until she had turned around, her large eyes fixed on his. "Yes – and given the current situation ..." He smiled at her, and raised an amused brow.

"B-b-but… This is Malfoy Manor," she stuttered, "and I'm Muggle-born!"

She shook her head, and he sighed, then cupped her face in his hands. "I know you'll like it here, once you know us better, Kitten – just like my mother."

His lips brushed hers, and Hermione sighed, relaxing into his arms. She didn't know if she could ever forgive Narcissa Malfoy for standing by while she was tortured, but then, the times had been dark... and cruel. And she had forgiven Draco, even come to understand most of his actions. And if she could forgive him, who had slipped into her heart, perhaps she could excuse his mother as well.

But right now, she was too tired to think, and just enjoyed being near him again. Death had come too close for both of them, and they both held each other firmly, Draco's chin on her curls.

For almost a minute, they stood like this, letting silence surround and enter them, then Draco lifted his head, smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Time to go to your room. I know which one Pipsy has ready for you. You have your own bath, like I do. It looks like we both need a long shower."

Hermione chuckled. "Indeed, Mr. Malfoy, you look uncommonly scruffy!"

"Typical day, a jaunt to the museum, visits from the relatives," he replied dryly, then teased, "Looked into a mirror lately?"

"Not since my parents' hou—oh no!" she gasped, stepping back. "_My parents_! They must be out of their minds by now!"

"I can lend you my owl," Draco offered, startled by her sudden change of mood.

Hermione shook her head, digging into her bag. "Do Muggle-devices work under your wards?"

He shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I never tried one."

Hastily she took out her cell phone and turned it on, sighing in relief as she saw reception bars light up. "Thank the Lord!" she whispered, punching in the number. Draco shook his head. A _Muggle-born_ _standing here in Malfoy Manor, making a_ _telephone call_. _His father would surely have exploded if he'd ever suggested it_.

"Mom? It's me. I'm… _Mom_! MOM! Calm down, I'm all right!" She held the little device away from her ear as the woman's frantic questions poured out of the receiver. Draco chuckled. Muggle-mothers weren't so different from wizarding mothers!

"Mom, may I explain, please? ... I'm all right. Nothing happened to… – Yes, Draco is all right, too!" Draco's face lit up when he realized that her mother was concerned about him, too. "No, Mom, they weren't terrorists, but Death Eaters. I told you about them and… Hi Dad! No, no, we are all right, don't worry! – No, we're somewhere in Wiltshire, at Draco's home. – No, perfectly fine, but we thought it better to fly to the manor than to return to you in case the Death Eaters followed us. – Da-ad, I told you about them before ... – What? No, not all are arrested. Draco brought me to his house, where the security is really good. – No, Mom, I'm welcome here. Mrs. Malfoy invited me to stay a few days and … Mom? – Yes, I'm invited and… What? No, I know how to behave and … Mo-om! The Malfoys don't have a house, but a _castle, _and plenty of servants, so I won't be an inconvenience!"

Draco was stifling a laugh, and she grimaced at him.

"No, Mom, a _castle_! They call it a 'manor', but it's huge and probably a thousand years old. I will not get in the way. – What? No, I have no clean underwear with me, but ... Mom, we are wizards! We can alter something, or I can wash what I have on."

"Wouldn't mind if you didn't wear anything at all, Granger!" he murmured beside her and grinned mischievously, as she blushed and glared.

"What? No, that was only Draco, who can't seem to keep his big mouth shut!" she replied at the mobile, punching him hard on the arm, making him rub it and grin even wider.

This time her mother seemed to be lecturing. "Mom, I am fine , and … Yes, I will thank Mrs. Malfoy on your behalf … Mom! I am nineteen! I promise I will be the perfect houseguest!"

"Really?" Draco couldn't resist the taunt, and Hermione covered the phone with her hand. "Shut up!" she hissed, which only tickled him more. Shooting daggers at him, she continued, "Mom, I'm sorry, but I have to take a shower now. They expect me for dinner. I'll phone to you tomorrow. – No, please, everything is all right. Don't worry, I am safe here! – Yes, I love you, too. Give my love to Dad, won't you? – Thanks, bye!" She turned off the phone and gave a huge sigh.

Draco laughed. "And here I thought _my_ mother was over-protective!"

She glared at him and snapped, "You were not helping _at all_!"

He only laughed harder, thinking once again how cute she was when angry. "Come on, Kitten, your room is over here. You can have a long hot shower, and you'll feel like new."

She slammed the door behind her, half grumbling, half amused, and Draco laughed again as he went to his own room.

Two and a half hours later, after a refreshing shower and a marvellous dinner, Hermione lay in bed like a tired puppy. The days' events were still dashing around in her mind, and she couldn't sleep. When she woke up this morning, she wouldn't have guessed in her wildest dreams that she would be a guest in Malfoy Manor that evening, dining with _the Malfoys, _of all people!

Dinner had turned out to be a light, delicious affair, and she talked the most – oh wonder – with Draco's mother, who opened up to her; first out of courtesy, and then more because of a real interest. The lady of the house asked her about her parents, her life in the Muggle-world, aspects of the Muggle-world generally and of her duties as Head Girl. Draco, who sat beside her, explained here and there details of their lives at Hogwarts, and Hermione learned that Narcissa had McGonagall as teacher, too. They talked about changes in Hogwarts, discussed Potions and even laughed together about Professor Trelawany, because both witches had absolutely no talent for second sight. All in all, the dinner had proved more pleasant than she had expected, and even Lucius Malfoy held his tongue from mockery, even contributing from time to time to the small talk, keeping silent the rest of the time, while tending to glare at his son.

Hermione had to agree with Draco that Narcissa Malfoy was _very_ charming. Now she knew where Draco had learned his talent for wrapping someone around his little finger.

Shifting in her bed, Hermione opened her eyes to gaze into the flames in the large fireplace, and again around the room. It was large, certainly the size of the entire downstairs in her parents' house. As in the other rooms, the furniture was heavy and dark, exquisitely made and cared for, with different eras of design mixed quite comfortably and complimentarily about the room. _A thousand years_, she had said to her mother. Yes, what kind of furniture would you collect in a thousand years? The kind you and your descendants would enjoy using, sitting in, sleeping in, for ... how long? Hundreds of years. The best of every period, it seemed. The high windows were covered with the same green velvet curtains that hung in the office and in the salon; the floor was flagged in white and black, covered here and there with the thick silk Oriental carpets to warm one's feet. An enormous four-poster bed dominated the room and offered a comfortable place to rest. The cushions and blankets were covered with white winter batiste.

The attached bath was very like that of their dormitory in Hogwarts, only no dolphins chirped at the window. The colours were, like in the rest of the house, sand, black, white, green and warm brown. The tub was big enough for three, the shower had a second and third shower head (all, of course, in the shape of a snake) offering a wide choice of soaps, and the towels were thick, dense and soft, smelling of fresh air.

All was luxury, and she wondered no longer why Draco always behaved as if he were so superior to everyone else. By Muggle-standards, he was a blood aristocrat and raised as such, his views seemingly confirmed by his surroundings. This was no excuse for the bullying, of course, but she could understand it a little better now.

Closing her eyes, her thoughts drifted across the corridor. She was happy to have him near again. He had shown her his own room, so like this one, but filled with personal belongings: a plate with sweets on the side table, books about Quidditch, his desk full of parchments and notes, photos of his family, him and several comrades from Slytherin, and his beloved Firebolt hovering in one corner. This all was so similar to his room in Hogwarts, she had felt a sudden yearning for her home away from home, but then Draco had brought her back to the present by taking her in his arms and kissing her the same way he had done the morning they parted, gently, passionately, sweetly.

Then Pipsy had appeared to announce that dinner was ready. Hermione found herself weak-kneed, lips swollen with passion. She had cast a quick illusion charm over their mouths. She didn't think that Lucius would notice, but a woman would, and she didn't want to get either of them into trouble.

But the kiss had reawakened that feeling inside. Even now, more than two hours later, she still could feel his kisses, and remember the feel of his shoulders beneath his shirt. Now, too tired to feel the all consuming lust after such a kiss, she simply wished for him to be here, beside her, holding her in his arms while she slept. She had missed him so much since they'd parted, and to lie in a bed in the house that held so many bad memories for her, she needed someone to hold her.

She sat up when she heard a soft knock at the door, and hesitated a moment, instinctively pulling the blanket to her neck and reaching for her wand. The gentle knock was repeated and, calling herself a coward, Hermione threw the covers off and padded to the door, unlocking it and opening it a slit. A grey eye under a shock of blond hair looked in at her. With a mixture of relief and happiness, she opened to him. Carefully she closed the door behind him, and, flicking his wand, the lock clicked. Hermione had to smile.

Draco looked down at her; an amused grin tugged at his mouth. She wore one of his shirts, magically altered to make the sleeves shorter and the hem longer, but still it didn't reach to her knees, and allowed him to see her creamy legs. Her hair, dried after the shower with a quick spell, was a mane of curls, and the healing bruise on her temple, combined with the too-large shirt, reminded him of a little girl who had just had a long day on the playground.

A warm affection flared up in his chest, almost taking his breath away, and wordlessly, he took her in his arms and held her close; wanting to crush her to him, yet handle her like delicate glassware at the same time. His face was buried a moment later in her curls, and she felt him take a deep breath, and relax. And she knew that he had needed her as much as she had him.

Hermione sighed, and returned his embrace, marvelling at the steady beat of his heart under her ear, and the warmth his body radiated. His scent, mingled with the soap from earlier, enveloped her. He suddenly lifted her and carried her to the bed. She put her arms around his neck and buried her face in the curve by his shoulder.

Dropping his wand to the floor beside the bed, he placed her carefully on it, and slipped in beside her, covering them both with the blankets. Hermione shivered, only now realizing how cool it was in the room, and cuddled against him; finally at peace.

Draco breathed her in, still hardly daring to believe that she was here – in his home, in his arms again – then he placed a kiss on the top of her head, rubbing her back. He had decided against giving her the Christmas gift before he came over. It was the first time he'd gotten something for her, and wanted it to be a special moment for them both, when she finally opened it. Maybe New Year's Eve ... he hoped she would stay here until the end of holidays. It would be too dangerous for her to return to a home that was unprotected. His father would raise the roof, but, on the other hand, Lucius still had to repair his reputation with the Ministry. And allowing the Muggle war heroine to stay at his home would surely 'add points' on his record with them. His own reason was far more selfish: he wanted his sweet girl all to himself for a few days. No hiding away, no overprotective and annoying friends.

With another contented sigh, Draco relaxed next to her. They knew that they weren't up to making love to each other. They were satisfied to be next to each other again, not running from Death Eaters. Both of them could be dead by now, but here they were.

"I couldn't keep away," Draco whispered.

Hermione smiled happily up at him. "I'm glad you couldn't," she answered quietly, touching his face.

He closed his eyes. "Good night, Kitten."

He could hear the smile on her face as she murmured, "Good night, Drake." It felt right that she would call him by the name only his best mates used. In two minutes, both had fallen asleep – content and secure in each other's arms.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Surprisingly, the next morning Draco was the first to awaken, bemused not to find himself in his own room. Then he felt the gentle pressure of an arm, the warmth of a soft body next to his, and the curls tickling his chin. He smiled, contented that was home _together_ with Hermione. In the space of five breaths, he nearly drifted back to sleep, then he remembered the events of the day before and he was fully awake again. Recalling yesterday's trip to London, to the Museum, the chase, the fight at the manor, and the conference with his father, Draco couldn't sleep any longer. As much as he wanted to curl around the sweet girl next to him, he knew that there were matters at hand he had to take care of. Like comparing the information he got yesterday from Angela with the details in the books he'd found in the manor library – and the 'morning talk' with his father he was certain to face soon. If his father had risen so early the last time to speak with him about the research he'd done, Lucius would surely use the quiet morning to discuss with him the real reasons for the mess they'd made yesterday. And he'd better not let the lord of the manor find him curled around their guest – the Golden Girl of Slytherin's strongest rival and the best friend of two young men Lucius certainly still hated.

Carefully he untangled himself from his lover – instantly missing the loss of contact – and slipped from the bed, taking care to cover her properly. His saw her bag on the table by the window, and for a moment he hesitated, pondering the idea that suddenly popped into his head. Then he quickly snatched it up and went to the door. Retrieving his wand, he threw one last glance back – Merlin, how much he just wanted to lie with her! – and left the room. The hallway was cool, and he darted across the hall and into his own room, lighting the fireplace with a flick of his wand, too distracted this morning to practice the wandless magic.

Quickly he locked his door with a charm, put on a morning robe, slipped into a pair of warm slippers and went to his desk, taking out the papers that Hermione's odd combobbler ... Muggle-widget ... whatever ... spit out. The scripts were surprisingly easy to read and he quickly scanned the information. Again he was astonished by the meanings of the names of their Egyptian students; and then his chin dropped. Hermione had also checked the names of the other Egyptians who had – or still were – visiting Hogwarts.

_Akay = white moon or full moon_

_Aron al Khamet (El Hadary) = the epiphany of Egypt, Khamet = old name of Egypt_

_Behar (Abontreika) = beginning of spring_

Draco stared down at the paper in his hand, then gave his head a shake. Well, could this be coincidence? A so-called 'epiphanic realisation' of Egypt, the oriental counter part of Dumbledore, was visiting their DADA teacher, a man named after the full moon – a time that gave the ancient gods the most power – and four students, whose names contained the characteristics of their House gods, able to shift into their forms? Along with this, the matter of the stolen artefacts connected to an ancient king murdered by an ancient predecessor of Voldemort? Additionally, former Death Eaters working together with the ancient society? You would have to be blind and stupid not to see how it all fit together!

Grabbing his notebook and recording what he had learned from Angela the afternoon before, he was startled when Pipsy finally appeared, curtseying, to tell him that his parents and Hermione were already up and that breakfast would be in a quarter hour. Draco looked at his watch. Yes, it was almost half past eight, and he could see sunlight between his curtains. The day promised to be one of those bright winter days he liked so much. And, even better, his father hadn't shown up at his door with the thumbscrew. Well, the whole 'talk' was only delayed, but at least he wouldn't have to do it on an empty stomach.

With only fifteen minutes left to get presentable, he started shouting orders at Pipsy, who giggled but worked with him. With the elf's help, Draco managed to shoot out of his room only fourteen minutes later; showered, dried and shaved and dressed as quickly as only magic could manage. Panting, he knocked at Hermione's door, straightened his jacket, tried to catch his breath – and placed a sunny smile on his face as the door unlocked.

Hermione, who had already spoken to her mother, had been waiting for him for ten minutes now, after she had asked the sweet little house elf to look in on Draco, in case that he had fallen asleep again. It had been disappointing to wake up and find he was no longer there, but she knew that he had stayed the night. His scent still clung to the pillow, and she had buried her face in the batiste. And when Pipsy had shown up, informing her about breakfast, Hermione knew that Draco would probably miss the meal. No sound had come from his room, and she didn't want him to get into more trouble with his father by being late to breakfast.

And now he stood before her, grinning far too broadly and slightly out of breath – the universal signal for 'Here I am. No problem. Been ready for ages now, and you?'

"Morning!" she greeted him, eyes sparkling.

Draco lifted a brow. "Good morning, Kitten. Sleep well?" He surveyed her quickly. She wore her own clothes, now cleaned, instead of the robe his mother had loaned her for dinner. He had to admit (to himself) that these trousers called 'jeens' and the pullover suited her better. The other made her look too grown up, too stern – almost like McGonagall.

Letting her index finger wander over his chest (which made the skin under her finger tingle), she cocked her head. "Yes, very well, thanks to the teddy bear that snuggled next to me." She winked at him and he winked back; not the slightest bit offended by the comparison – which he would certainly have growled about had someone else said it.

"Ready for breakfast?" He offered her his arm.

She nodded, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. "By the way, did you see my bag?"

He nodded, looking a tad guilty. "Uh, yes. I took it with me when I left earlier." He saw the surprise on her face and added, "Don't fret, Mione, I couldn't sleep any longer and wanted to use the time to compare the information you got from you commudle – or whatever you call it – with my own results. There are a few things I want to show you, but first, breakfast!"

He pulled her along with him, and they were soon at the salon Hermione knew. Draco entered and greeted his parents, already present, then Hermione did the same.

Narcissa gave her son a peck on the cheek and smiled at Hermione, inviting both to the table where Lucius, at the head, sat reading the _Daily Prophet_. He folded the newspaper and handed it to his heir. "You two might find this interesting. It seems that the entire wizarding world of Great Britain has a new eight-day wonder to talk about." Hermione glanced at him in surprise. Was she mistaken, or was there an amused gleam in the blue-grey eyes?

Draco took the newspaper and Hermione looked over his shoulder. And then both pair of eyes widened as they read the headline, _'Death Eaters are named for the break-in and attack on the British Museum – hundreds of Muggles flee in panic…'_

"Oh!" was all Hermione could muster.

Lucius lifted again an amused brow. "Yes. 'Oh' was quite close to my reaction when I saw it, too." He gestured for Sniksy to fill the cups with tea, while the two students sat between his parents, facing each other. As Narcissa spread her napkin over her lap, Lucius cleared his throat. "I received an owl this morning – from Minister Shacklebolt." His stern gaze darted between his son and their guest. "He expects me the Ministry at eleven o'clock, certainly to discus yesterday's events." His gaze landed on Draco. "You and Miss Granger already told me what happened at the museum, as you explained it to the Aurors. Is there ... anything else you haven't thought about or would like to add, Draco?"

Draco shook his head. "No. We left nothing out, Father."

Lucius nodded slowly. "Very well. How about you, Miss Granger?" His cool eyes found her warm brown ones, and for just a moment, he saw something else in her, something more than a 'mudblood.' For several heartbeats, he saw a very pretty young woman, whose heart-shaped face held still an innocence he thought could not exist in one who had seen the horrors of war. Someone who -

Hermione returned his glance straight. "No, Mr. Malfoy. I also have nothing else to add."

Lucius sighed, his thoughts interrupted, and gestured for the bread. "Draco, please pass me the toast."

When breakfast was over, the older Malfoy rose. "Please excuse me now, I have to travel to the Ministry. Draco?" His son gave him his attention. "We two, together with Miss Granger, still have a thing or two to discuss when I get back. Until then, show her around and enjoy the day. I am certain that Miss Granger would like to see the gardens." He walked to the door, but turned back. "And Draco, do me a favour?"

His son blinked. "Of course?"

Lucius took a deep breath. "Stay out of trouble!"

With those words he left and Draco frowned. "He sounds as if I'm always in trouble. But when have I made trouble?"

His mother coughed, and Hermione smiled sweetly. "The question should be, when have you _not_ made trouble?"

He glared at her. "Gryffindor!" he growled, and she grinned broadly at him.

"Hey, just one more thing you and Harry have in common, you always are swimming in a wild ocean just out of reach of land."

"I am NOT like Potter!" Draco protested.

Hermione chuckled, "Indeed you are!"

"I'm not!"

"You are!"

"Not!"

"Are!"

Narcissa had listened to the badinage with interest, how the playful expression of the girl put the cheerful gleam in her son's eyes. She paused, wondering. If she didn't know better, she would say the two sounded just like an old happily married couple ...

The winter day was sunny but a clear, dry cold. The new snow had fallen last night, covering the old layer, and giving the gardens an enchanted appearance. Eyes large with wonder, Hermione explored the labyrinthine gardens, the tall rose beds, the ancient, enormous rhododendrons. In the centre of the park was a frozen pond. White benches encircled it, completing the harmony of the pond and flower beds. A large fountain in shape of a wizard, at whose feet dolphins played, stood at the centre of the pond, feeding fresh water from the tip of his wand into the pool in the summer months.

Hermione kept turning about, trying to take in the beauty around her. She had known that the Malfoys were old wealth, living in a 'manor' – more like a small castle than a home – but the eclectic and marvellously intricate combination of styles revealed another side to this family, one she would not have thought possible. Here was harmony, warmth, grace, an eye for detail, and a subtle sense of humour (evidenced by the life-sized marble figure of Lucius Malfoy's father, sitting on a bench overlooking the garden. He wore a belt with gardening tools and a thoughtful expression. On the bench were his birth- and death-dates, a fitting memorial for a man who must have loved the garden). She'd already guessed whose hand had most recently worked in these gardens – the same hand that had held the young man beside her when he was still an infant. She began to understand that these purebloods wore the cool, arrogant mask, much like the older members of the Royal Family, but deep inside there was a warmth shared only with the family or their closest friends; as if a great secret which might make them look weak, or render them vulnerable.

Draco offered her a seat on one of the park benches in the sun, casting a warming charm around them both. He leaned back, turning his face to the sun, and closed his eyes. Hermione looked at his profile and grinned. He almost looked like one of those handsome young men on the ski magazines in the chemist's shop. Seeing Draco Malfoy taking a sun bath was a sight to behold!

As if hearing her thoughts, he chuckled. "You love to watch me, don't you, Kitten?"

Hermione shook her head, grinning wryly. "And if I tell you yes, I'd be giving you exactly what you want, wouldn't I?"

He looked at her through his lashes. "Just something else we both have in common, we both love to look at beautiful things."

She was silent a moment, stunned by the reply, then she burst out laughing. "Typical Malfoy talent – complimenting someone else, and revealing your arrogance in one and the same sentence!"

"Me? Arrogant?" He raised his head to look at her. "Enlighten me, my dear."

Hermione snickered, "Calling me beautiful, suggesting I think the same about you …" She stopped when she saw the smirk growing on his face and punched him on the arm.

"Ouch!" he rubbed the spot, frowning. "Bugger all, Mione, I'm really bruised enough," he pouted. She giggled and tousled his hair, earning a half-hearted protest and laughter from him.

For a long moment they sat, beholding each other, enjoying the playful mood, as if nothing in the world was wrong. Then Draco sat up and rubbed his cheeks. "You do know that the next few days will not be 'fun and games'? Not only will my father interview us again, I am certain that we will hear from McGonagall, not to mention of Wonder Boy and the Weasel when we're back as school. The _Daily Prophet_ will tell them more than a sit-down with Rita Skeeter!"

Hermione leaned back next to him and shrugged. "We've faced worse. And I'm sure it will grow worse still over the coming weeks." She closed her eyes and turned her face toward the sun, too. "Did you find anything out ... after you went through my things?" She almost felt irritated, but she calmed the moment his fingers entwined with hers.

"I didn't intend to spy on you, Kitten. I just couldn't sleep anymore and thought it better to cross check our information instead of wasting time. There is still much we have to decode, and every day, the danger grows."

Biting her lip, Hermione thought a moment, then nodded. "Yes, I agree. Angela gave us several hints and explained a lot, but…" She stopped suddenly, frowning. "What did she say about that other papyrus that concerned Ramses III and the trial? Something about what happened then?"

Draco thought for a moment. "She said that the court stenographer reported some very eerie events during the trial, and that 'black magic' was used from the 'watcher of the herds', using wax dolls with carved signs on them and spells." Then he rubbed his chin. "Isn't it odd?" he asked. She looked at him and he waved his hand. "Our Egyptian friends! They stole everything that had to do with Ramses III and the conspiracy against him, but didn't try to get the papyrus that describes Penhuibin's magical skill?"

"Perhaps they already know exactly what it says and don't need to know what's on it," Hermione mused. "If I understood Angela correctly, then the stolen document in the British Museum in London was only found lately, and the other one had been discovered some time ago." She sighed. "All right, Angela didn't mention the date when it was found, but there is already a complete translation, so I think it's been on exhibit for some time now."

Draco thought a moment, then said slowly, "We have to learn as soon as possible what it says about how this Penhuibin used his 'black magic' and how he 'used' his victim to kill himself." He hesitated for a moment. "Where is that papyrus exhibited?"

"Angela mentioned Turin," Hermione groaned. "So it's out of reach to us personally." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "What a shame we lost her assistance because of the Death Eaters. I know we're going to need someone who knows more about the Egyptian culture than what we can find in the internet or in library books."

Draco shrugged. "So, we contact her again." He saw her look and smirked, "I removed her memories of what happened during the fight at the museum. All she remembers is our visit and that there were robbers there afterward. To her, we're still just pupils, and I'm sure that she won't remember any more than that."

For a long moment Hermione looked at him, then laughed out loud. "Draco Malfoy, you ARE a Slytherin through and through."

He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. "If you mean that I first use my head before acting like a Gryffindor does – just on principle – present witch excluded – then you're right."

She giggled. "You're brilliant – from time to time!"

"Hey, I'm always brilliant!" His smile faded. "We might really need Angela's help again."

Hermione nodded. "Right. I'll call her to find out how she fared after we left the museum. That way we can see how successful your spell was." She ignored his irritated look and returned to the topic. "Concerning this papyrus, we have no clue what its original meaning is. Maybe, if I could get an internet connection, I could-"

Draco shot out of his seat, grinning down at her. "We don't need that Muggle-net-thingy. I know another way." He pulled her to her feet, smirking in victory.

"And this would be?" Hermione asked, knowing this expression very, very well.

He chuckled. "Are we wizards or not? And, by the way, I have _my_ sources, too!" Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, he guided her back to the warmth of the house, ignoring her annoyed looks …

TBC…

_Yeah, Draco is and remains a Slytherin through and through - but in this case it isn't a bad thing._

_In the next chapter you will learn more about the background of the danger that is approaching more and more, you get a look into Hogwarts and you read more about Lestrange and the others._

_I hope you enjoyed the new installment and I would be very glad to get some reviews again (laugh)._

_Have a nice Sunday,_

_yours Lywhn_


	53. The Days In Between

_Hallo, my dear Readers,_

_And once again I can only apologize that the new update comes so late. But the last weeks were very, very busy and there was barely time to enjoy the hobby. And, adding to this, I also had to make some changes within the story, what also means that I had to edit this chapter in several certain points. But I do think the story-plot runs more smooth now – because of said changes – and that you are going to like it. _

_At last there is only to say "Thank you", "Thank you", "Thank you" for the many reviews and comments you left. I'm really happy that you are enjoying this fanfic so much. And now: off to Hogwarts and Malfoy Manor. Some new details are laying ahead, besides some sweet scenes. _

_Love you all, _

_yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 52 – The Days In Between**

Hogwarts was quiet – even two days before New Year's Eve. The few students who had remained over the holidays were barely noticeable in the long, empty hallways. Only during meals did the Great Hall come alive. But considering that there were so few students and only four teachers besides the caretaker, Mr. Filch and the guest El Hadary, the unnatural stillness was to be expected. The ghosts enjoyed having the halls all to themselves, the house elves considered it their very own vacation, and the owls in the owlery slept most of the nights as well as the days, only to return after hunting in the morning for a quiet rest above the snow-blanketed courtyard.

Therefore, the birds looked a bit grumpy later that morning when someone came into the owlery. The visitor picked a fast, strong eagle owl. That particular specimen glared at the student, then blinked, recoiling. Something was not right with this human. In fact, something was completely and impossibly wrong! The bird of prey's fine instincts raised its feathers in ornithological alarm as a slender hand took its unwilling foot and fastened a letter. The bird's strong heart fluttered while it endured the unwanted contact, almost stiff with fear. Then the student ordered it to fly to the south of London, to a man the bird knew was evil. As frightened as it was, it didn't dare refuse, and was, a moment later, out in the bright winter day, relieved to escape the dark unsettling presence of this human that couldn't be human.

But the owl's departure didn't go unnoticed. From Ravenclaw tower, a pair of pale blue eyes watched the other climbing the stairs up to the owlery and the owl leaving.

Luna frowned, watching the other more closely, enchanting her large rhinestone Quibbler goggles to act as telescopes. She was certain that she'd never seen this boy before, who appeared to be a seventh year. She must have met him over the last months (and years) but she was certain that she'd never seen him before. And her fine senses grew suspicious as the goggles picked up a shimmer around the young wizard. Later she would say the Nargels told her to check on him, but more truthfully, her 'wit beyond measure' recognized the illusion charm, very odd. Bidding good-bye to Edis, who was struggling with Ancient Runes, she left the common room and ran all the way to the schoolyard where the stranger would have to return to the school. Pressing herself behind the statue of Millicent the Mournful, breathing soundlessly, she was out of sight as the stranger entered. Eyes wide, she watched the illusion charm melt away and the stranger became Layla – her expression dark, her eyes furious when she passed Luna's hiding place, running back to the dungeons. The Ravenclaw tapped her chin thoughtfully.

Why the illusion charm when she went to the owlery? Where was she sending an owl? Egypt was too far away for an owl, unless the message wasn't urgent. An owl would need two weeks or more to go that far. And if she were communicating with someone at home, why change her appearance?

No, something was out of place. She'd seen Abdelghani wandering through the mountains with the old wizard – in the snow – and now Layla disguised herself to send an owl somewhere, certainly somewhere in this country. And, she recalled, the olive-skinned witch seemed highly agitated when reading the _Daily Prophet_ this morning – or, more accurately, after she scanned the first page; the report of the robbery and panic at the British Museum. Surely the attack by the Death Eaters was related to the unusual events over the last weeks.

She slid from her hiding place, heading back to the dormitory, humming a light tune. She had decided to inform the others. She knew that she couldn't send an owl to Harry or Ronald. No one knew where the Weasleys were. Therefore her choices were Hermione or Draco. But not knowing Hermione's home address that was still a secret to the official Wizardry World to keep the Grangers safe. That left one other, someone she had also come to trust …

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

If there was one place Hermione Jean Granger felt instantly at home, it was in a library. And the hall Draco had led her to was filled from bottom top with hundreds of books. He had escorted her to the tall double doors and commented "Have fun!" How long she lingered there, Hermione couldn't tell. Time stood still for her when there were thousands of books to explore.

The library was situated on the first floor, just behind the great dining room she'd been trying to avoid. Draco guided her down the long corridor lined with paintings, inviting chairs in groupings of two and three, and some tall, lush plants, waiting in terracotta pots for the summer, when they would be replanted outside. With every step, she knew that behind _that_ wall, she'd suffered the worst curse known to man – or woman. And that knowledge had made her hair stand on end. But, every inch the Gryffindor, she had ignored it and kept her teeth clamped – and was rewarded with a library that was like a dream for her.

Here, again, dark velvet curtains framed the high windows and black and white marble paved the floor, decorated with exquisite oriental carpets. The shelves were gleaming mahogany, as were the reading corner and the tables and chairs just begging for a researcher. The large fireplace with the wrought-iron grill spilled warmth about the room. Several very old, very potent spells made certain that neither the sun, air, pests nor humidity could damage the contents. A large landscape painting, the colours darkened by centuries, was the only decoration besides the elaborated columns and the arches at the ceiling, carved into the same sand-coloured stone of which the whole manor seemed to be made.

Forgetting time and place, Hermione buried herself in the books, marvelling at the first editions of transfiguration and charms books, old reports of eye witness events in the wizardry world many years before, first-hand reports of events during the goblin wars, the first negotiations with centaurs. She didn't sense Draco's return, and yelped when he whispered in her ear: "Anything interesting?"

He laughed as she balled one hand into a fist, holding in the other a thin, old book as if cradling an infant. "Draco Malfoy! Don't ... _do that_!" she screeched, whacking him on the shoulder girl-style.

He only laughed harder. God, he _loved_ seeing her angry. "Peace, Kitten!" he snickered, lifting both hands in mock surrender, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling in his injured shoulder. "You'll forgive me, I'm sure of it."

"I'm not so certain!" Hermione huffed; then amusement returned to her eyes. Merlin, this boy ... looking at her as if he were an oversized toe-rag. "Where have you been?" she asked, moving to one of the sofas where he'd left the printouts she and her mother made, parchments with her own and Draco's script, some books and a very old looking scroll. He'd brought all these things with him from his private chamber.

He casually stuck his hands into his trouser pockets. "I contacted my source," he drawled, looking very satisfied with himself. "We'll get information about this papyrus within the next couple of days."

She sat, stifling the groan, feeling sore all over. "And just whom did you ask for help?"

He frowned at her wording – a Malfoy didn't ask for help, mind you! – and shrugged. "A friend of mine, with connections." He sat beside her and reached for the parchment roll, but hesitated. "Mione, what I'm showing you now is not only valuable, but also beyond price. I do think there isn't a witch or a wizard who wouldn't want to examine it, or to own it – especially the members of the Ministry. It's been in the possession of my family for almost a thousand years, so please, be very careful." He smiled at her look of awe, and added gently, "I know that you are the last person I have to remind to handle something like this with great care, but … I'm risking a lot, including the eternal wrath of my father, showing you this – and Heaven and all the angels help me if something happened to it."

Hermione had guessed what this parchment was – or who had written it – and took the old material gently in her hands, only opening it with great care after Draco nodded his permission.

The ink was fading, some figures were faded, but she instantly recognized the ancient runes, written in a firm, hard script. She concentrated on the runes and only two sentences later her expectation turned to certainty. "This… this is Salazar Slytherin!" she whispered, looking at him, a stunned expression in her eyes. "This… this parchment was written by _Salazar Slytherin_ _himself_!" She was a Gryffindor through and through, but holding a handwritten document by one of Hogwarts' founders would have excited any witch or wizard who attended the school. And Hermione, who loved and respected books of any kind, was astonished to have such an item in her hand.

Draco nodded slowly. "Yes. This is the report I mentioned." He pointed at several runes. "I can make out most of what he writes, but some of these are strange for me. Do you know them?" Hermione was still awestruck to answer; simply looking at the old parchment. Seeing she hadn't heard a word he'd said, he raised a hand and stroked her cheek softly; a gesture that would have been completely out of character for him only two months ago. But now it felt natural to touch this girl as often as possible. "Mione?" he asked again. "Do you know these runes?"

Coming to herself, Hermione snapped back to the present. "Yes, I think. A few of them. Just give me a minute."

Draco nodded. _Of course._ There was little this scholar hadn't learned or at least read about, and then remembered reading about. Satisfied, the young wizard moved off to give her the time she needed, returned to the books he'd been looking at yesterday, before his father re-shelved them.

"He writes that he isn't the only one who values the pure blood – that there are more like him around the world. He says that Goderic Gryffindor was a fool to think that Muggle-borns ... or 'Muggle-rooted wizards' ... could reach the same potential as purebloods."

Draco snorted. "Well, he'd never met you."

She smiled up at him. "Did you just give me another compliment? Twice in one day?"

"Truth is always truth!" he answered, winking at her, then returned with more books in his arms. "Slytherin refers to other things that happened during his visits to other countries, and that he would dedicate himself to spreading the belief that pure blood would prove itself the strongest one day." He placed the books on the table and pointed at the lower corner of the parchment. "Here, read this. He refers to other reports he wrote. Maybe we could find answers there."

Nibbling her lip, Hermione frowned. "You believe that there's a connection between Slytherin, the Death Eaters and Penhuibin?"

Shrugging, Draco opened one of the books, and it immediately broke out in blood-curdling shrieks. Hermione clapped her hands over her ears, instantly reminded of Mrs. Black's hideous moans at Grimmauld Place. Grimacing, Draco pulled his wand out and tapped it on the book cover, mumbling something and instantly the noise ceased. "Bloody thing!" he mumbled, and sat down in the armchair beside Hermione, who carefully laid the parchment aside. "Here!" he began, opening the book. "This author writes of a certain vessel in which a soul can be captured. The intact soul – not just a part of one, as Voldemort did. And he refers to a conversation his great great great grandfather had with Slytherin, after he'd returned from his second journey – the one after he left Hogwarts. He must have met him after Slytherin visited our old manor, and died several months later. I now think that Slytherin must have discovered how to preserve or to split the soul during his journey. Think about it. The fact that," he held up one finger, "the wax dolls were covered with symbols that probably connect their souls with their House gods, so sharing their soul with them means a kind of 'splintering' of the soul, too." He held up the second finger, "Also, that the Horcrux was developed and utilized after Slytherin's death. Because of this, I believe that he brought this knowledge with him – from Egypt."

Listening carefully, Hermione paused, thinking, then nodded slowly. "Maybe he met members of the society of Penhuibin during his stay in Egypt. He found them of like opinion, similar passions. Perhaps they revealed to him their secret of the possible return of their founder."

Draco shook his head. "If they think anything like Death Eaters think, they wouldn't entrust him with anything that important. Slytherin was away from Great Britain for almost nine years. Even assuming that he was in Egypt for up to three years, he certainly couldn't earn that level of trust in that time. Don't forget, he was a complete stranger to them in a time when Europeans spent a lot of time and money raiding the lands of North Africa."

She nodded, thinking about it, then she sighed in frustration. "If we had just a little more information ..." She pressed her lips shut for a moment. "There is a connection – a connection that persists even today and is important enough for Penhuibin's followers to risk discovery by Muggles by stealing certain artefacts, not caring that they could be seen by Muggle technology." She glanced out window, not even registering the broad sunlight, as her mind sifted through the different possible explanations for Penhuibin's fellows to be her country, and the visit of Salazar Slytherin in Egypt almost thousand years ago. "Something happened during his stay in Egypt. Something that brought the others to our country now. The big question here is: _what_ happened?"

Draco shoved his hands through his hair, frowning. "And he took the answer with him to his grave – or it was lost when the first manor burned." He shook his head.

Hermione tilted her head and gazed thoughtfully out the window, a tiny frown appearing between her brows, remembering what he'd told her. "Is that 'Hidden Library' truly lost?"

He responded with a short bark of laughter. "Kitten, don't tell me _you_ want to look for it! My grandfather almost went mad trying to find it, like many of my ancestors did. Father tried to locate it, too, when he was younger, but dropped it before it became an obsession." He glanced at her, growing uneasy when he saw the excitement in her eyes when she turned back to him.

"But the library does exist?" she pressed, and the young Malfoy groaned.

"It's a _legend_, Granger! An old story about the library of the first manor that was not destroyed because it was protected by spells, before our surviving ancestors fled the mob, except for Sir Borealis Malfoy the Third, who stood behind to save what could be saved – so the family-chronic runs. But no one ever found this 'Hidden Library'. Not even the first Lord Malfoy, who returned from France and ordered a new manor built on the ruins of the old one. _If_ our ancestor was able to save a part of the library before everything burnt down, and _if_ the room withstood the fire the Muggle priests ordered, then it certainly was destroyed during the construction of the new manor."

Hermione turned toward him, the ancient book on the Dark Arts in her lap forgotten. "But it's _possible, _isn't it? Legends are always based on actual events!"

He stared at her. "Kitten, aren't you listening? _Generations_ of Malfoys have tried to find it – and _you_ want to succeed where all of them failed? It's now no more than an old memory or fairy tale!"

An all-too Slytherin-smirk appeared on her face. "After discovering the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Cloak of Invisibility, given to the _legendary_ three brothers, I'm open to a lot of things people might consider fantasy." She laid a hand on his arm. "If there is the slightest possibility that somewhere in this house are hidden the written records of Salazar Slytherin, with the answers we need so desperately, then we are obligated to try to find them."

Rubbing his temples with his fingertips – the universal sign for 'You're giving me a headache' – Draco moaned. "Hermione, which part of 'generations of Malfoys couldn't find it' didn't you understand?"

She smiled at him. "The 'couldn't'!" She crossed her arms, looking uncommonly stubborn. "Maybe your ancestor wanted to be certain that no one who did not have the right would be able to enter the library. What if he sealed the entrance with a charm that made it invisible to all who should not find it?"

Glaring at her, the Slytherin Prince answered: "That would make no sense. No one besides our family and our closest friends knew about the valuable parchments and reports in our possession. So no one else would even look for them here."

"How can you be certain?" Hermione's gaze went off into the distance. "I mean, are you sure that no one in the Wizardry World would assume that the Malfoys possessed some very rare and possibly even dangerous documents, hiding them away from everyone? If I understood you correctly, your ancestor, who followed Slytherin to Great Britain and helped to build Hogwarts, was known as a friend of Slytherin. And his son was separated into Slytherin House, being loyal to him like his father was. Of course, other wizards would expect that personal belongings of Slytherin would be stored here – in the old manor. And your ancestor, being the clever Slytherin student, took care that no one would find the documents and parchments, or any of the other dark materials that were added over the generations of the first Malfoys in Britain. Maybe the Malfoy-lord of the manor, the one who had to flee from the Muggle priests, if he disguised the door to the old library – making certain that the documents could only be found by those who thought exactly as he did …"

" 'If the Malfoys face trouble and the time is right, they will be ready to find the only way to gain the knowledge and wisdom that is hidden behind the door' ," Lucius' voice intoned from the doorway. His son and their guest looked up at him, startled. Lucius Malfoy still wore his travel robe and a light layer of ash, from using the floo network. Taking a deep breath, Lucius stepped in and closed the door behind him, sealing it with a silencing charm. "I see, you two are back on the topic again."

Draco blinked surprise. "How did you know…"

"You mother told me that she saw you leading Miss Granger to the library. And considering Miss Granger's well-known bibliophilia, this was my first stop." He shrugged off the cloak – also wincing from a painful wrench in his back in the fight last night – and tossed it over a table. He looked down at the books and parchments – and stiffened. His eyes fixed those of his son. "Don't tell me, you have-" He didn't finish the question, seeing the Slytherin parchment.

Hermione realized the intense misgivings the man might be feeling, and spoke up. "Mr. Malfoy? Draco already told me about the parchment and its 'author'." She returned the keen glare of her reluctant host and added, "The fact that your family possesses such a valuable artefact concerning the wizarding history of this country will not leave this house. You have my word." He still stared at her. She added thoughtfully, "I do believe that no one has the right to take something that was a gift from a friend – even if the gift was given centuries ago. According to Draco, Salazar Slytherin was a friend to your ancestor, and a guest in your family's home. He left this document in their care. It belongs only to you and your future heirs, Mr. Malfoy, and to no one else. But, knowing of certain eternally protesting voices in the Ministry, this shall remain a secret." She pointed at the parchment. "I swear no one will learn about it from me – and you know that _nothing_ ... can force me to share a secret." The last words were spoken quietly.

Both Malfoys were acutely aware of her reference.

Lucius Malfoy watched her for several seconds, than nodded and straightened, taking a deep breath. "Very well, Miss Granger, I believe you. For now!" He sat down at the other side of the table, watching his son and the young witch for a moment before he changed the subject.

"As you known I was at the Ministry and had a – how shall I put it – very interesting, but also unpleasant talk with Minister Shacklebolt, concerning your stunt in the Muggle-museum."

"But it wasn't our fault-"

"What could we have done-"

Both of them blurted out the obvious, but Lucius indicated they should stop. "I told him that you two were victims, just like the Muggles and had no idea that Lestrange and the others would attack you there. After all, you weren't in wizarding London."

Draco asked, "Was he suspicious about our visit to the museum?"

"He was, well, surprised, to say the least – especially because he knew by that time that the trouble started in the Egyptian Exhibition. And knowing about the things which are going on in Hogwarts, I presented your visit to him as harmless, telling him that you were curious about the Egyptian culture because of your visitors. I do think he accepted my explanation for your presence in the British Museum, even if he was irritated that you two risked your lives by roaming around London." He leaned back and glanced at Hermione. "He asked me if I was amendable to your remaining here, Miss Granger. And after I learned that McGonagall isn't in Hogwarts just now, leaving the school in the charge of Horace Slughorn and Professor Abdelghani, I told Minister Shacklebolt that you're welcome to stay until school begins. I don't think that it would do you and the others any good to face your oriental guests alone under the present circumstances."

Hermione pursed her lips. "I do thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Malfoy, but it would be no trouble for me to return to Hogwarts. I don't think that I would be in danger there nor-"

Lucius almost scoffed. "Miss Granger, without the Headmistress, to whom you're a favourite, and without your usual gang around you, I think you would find yourself in trouble quickly enough." He shook his head. "You're, um, welcome here, until school begins. I'm sure Draco would like to show you around and catch up with his studying with you." He rose. "By the way, your stay is generally known by now, and it would make a dreadful impression if you were to return to Hogwarts only an hour after your whereabouts were about to become published." He caught two bewildered glances and sighed. "As I left Shacklebolt's office, I found myself confronted by a lightning storm of flashbulbs. I do think the _Daily Prophet_ and the _Weekly Witch_ are going to love reporting this: you, a Muggle-born, staying as houseguest at Malfoy Manor," he reported tersely. Shaking his head, he gave the young witch an almost pitying look. "I do hope young Weasley is not misled by the report. I know the Weasleys, and it appears that young Ronald is as hot-headed as his father."

Hermione pressed her lips together to prevent the retort from escaping. Lucius put his cloak over his arm and pointed at the heap of books and parchments, changing the subject (inwardly smirking at the girl's stormy expression). "And concerning the issue of the rebirth you two are exploring, I advise you to do all research you can while you are here. I've thought a lot about the events you described, and I agree that something momentous is going on, or about to. Therefore we should gather as much information and proof as possible. After we have puzzled out the truth beneath this layer of secrets, and know that this conspiracy is as dangerous as you seem to believe, we will contact Shacklebolt again." He wiped the protests aside with a wave of his hand. "If there is a circle of fanatics who blithely raid Muggle-facilities, risking the security of our world, then this affair is bigger than we are. And I will not risk the life of my family, nor the lives of everyone at Hogwarts, or other wizards just so you and your little club can play the heroes. Again."

He walked towards the door. "Inform me about the progress you make and – this applies for both of you – not a word to Narcissa. She has suffered much during the last few years, and I won't have her worried any more."

"Of course, Father."

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy."

The man looked at both of them appraisingly, tapped his cane against his leg and snorted, then swept from the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

Draco hissed, "Mother suffered much – I _know_! And whose fault was it? If he hadn't chosen Voldemort as his 'beloved master', we wouldn't have been prisoners in our own home to-" The hand on his sleeve stopped his tirade.

"I'm not sure I trust your father yet, Draco, but one thing I've learned" she hesitated a moment. _Was she really about to defend Lucius Malfoy? Well, as they'd already pointed out, truth is always truth_. She continued, " ... he loves you both very much."

Sighing, Lucius' son leaned back in his armchair. "Yeah, I know." Then he frowned. "Why did you offer to return to Hogwarts, even after Father said that you're welcome here?" He was almost pouting.

Hermione had to fight the urge to laugh. He really was cute like this. Then it hit her, what Lucius had said. "Didn't you hear your father? A whole bunch of reporters waited for him, and found out that I'm staying here. The pure-blooded friends of your parents must be apoplectic. The Weasleys are going to think I'm nuts. Harry will be even more suspicious. Ron will freak again, and Ginny shake her head and grin, being the queen of romance that she is."

Draco shrugged. "Those 'friends' of my parents are either in Azkaban or fled the country. Only a few remained, and they are mostly those who'd already switched sides before the war, or never put any stock in blood purity. And about your Weasley? Ronald is a moron – sorry, Granger, just my opinion – Potter is more tolerant I ever gave him credit for, and the Weaslette is all right – sort of. And the parents, well, they are grown-ups and can tell the difference between gossip and truth."

Hermione snorted. "Oh yes, that was obvious when Rita Skeeter was writing all that rubbish about Harry and me. Molly was so upset with me for 'dropping' him. And by the way, the gossip _is_ the truth – if they impute more into my stay here than your family's attempt to keep me safe."

She was startled as his face was suddenly before hers, his hand behind her neck and his eyes looking deeply into hers. "It is no 'attempt', at least not on my part. I would fight the devil and all of his minions to keep you from harm." He saw the astonished expression in the dark chocolate depths, realized what he said, blushed – and did the first thing that came into his mind: he captured her mouth with his in a short fierce kiss that left her breathless. "And, by the way, Father will have to get used to having you around," he whispered, moving his thumb over her cheek, "because I would like you to visit the manor again."

Hermione stared, heart thudding in her ears. The emotion she saw in his eyes and his fiery words spoke volumes – something neither was ready to voice or even accept. But the warmth of that truth washed over her, and reacting, she closed the distance and her lips met his – a gesture of affection.

Somewhere in the house, a door closed. Both teens broke the kiss, smiling sheepishly at each other. Then Draco cleared his throat and directed his attention back to the research.

"All right, Gryffindor, let's look at all this once again … and if Father thinks that I'll tell him everything, he's very much mistaken. This here is _our_ case, _our_ predicament, and I certainly don't need him to interfere."

Hermione snickered at him. "Slytherin arrogance!" she grinned and laughed, as he rolled his eyes, and mumbled, "We are never arrogant, we just know what we want!" He hesitated and lifted a brow. "And concerning 'what we want' I think it's about time to find out if our Muggle-friend really doesn't remember anything."

She smirked. "Uncertain about your own skills?" she teased, reaching for her phone. She laughed as he stuck his tongue out. Draco sealed the door with a silencing charm and watched her handle the buttons on her ridiculous Muggle-device. And then he almost jumped out of his skin when a loud whirring sound emanated from it. "I put the speakers on so you could hear what she says," Hermione explained, ignoring the distrustful look he was giving the telephone.

And then, "Yes?"

She smiled. "Hi Angela, this is Hermione."

"Hermione?" The other voice sounded confused.

"Yes, Hermione Granger, don't you remember? We met yesterday in the museum together with my fellow student Draco and…"

"Hermione!" The penny dropped. "Sorry that I didn't recognize your name. I'm still a bit wobbly after what happened yesterday."

"Yes, Draco and I heard about it. It seems that we barely left the building before it all happened, and we were concerned if you are all right."

"That's dear of you. Yeah, I'm ace. I must have been biffed about or something and woke up in a hospital. They released me only an hour ago. I just got home."

The two exchanged a look. "Hospital?" Hermione asked carefully.

Angela answered, "Yes. They said it was shock or something. The doctor told me that two young people handed me to the paramedics after I fainted after running two or three streets away from the museum. I must have run away from the building, but I can't remember anything." She laughed nervously. "I'm quite relieved that you and Draco are okay. I remembered you two and wanted to contact your parents this afternoon, but I'm glad I got to hear from you now, and know you're both alright."

Draco lifted on triumphant thumb and grinned broadly. Hermione shook her head and chuckled. "Yes, we're both fine. We left the museum after you showed us the Egyptian exhibit and were just about to get onto the bus when we heard the noise. We hadn't a clue what was going on. As we were leaving the bus stop and police were rushing toward the museum, we realized that we'd just missed something terrible."

"Yeah, it must have been terrible, from all I heard …"

Angela told them the Muggle-version of what happened and ended her account with the words: "And then, after the police broke open the door in the back storeroom, the terrorists had vanished. They're still searching for them, and Scotland Yard is pulling out all stops to give the press some good news, but if you ask me, I do think those cowards are over the hill and far away."

'_Pretty close to the truth,'_ Draco thought, considering how far his family manor was from London where they were next seen.

"And hopefully will never return," Hermione nodded. "I'm happy you're all right, Angela. If Draco and I have some more questions, would it be okay if we call you?"

"Of course, happy to assist, Hermione. You have my number if you need any more information."

"Thanks, good to know. Hope you have a good time at the New Year's Party."

"You, too, and my regards to your partner."

Hermione closed the connection. Draco sighed and leaned relaxed back. "Impressed?" he drawled and snickered as she whacked him on the knee.

"Flitwick would be impressed," she corrected him.

He touched her nose with his fingertip. "You are impressed by my skill to delete only specific parts of her memories. Admit it!"

Hermione looked up at the ceiling high above, and implored to the great Being beyond: "Can his ego grow any bigger?"

He threw back his head and laughed, then they both bowed over their work again.

The rest of the day went smoothly. Draco showed Hermione around, deftly avoiding the large dining room the best he could – after all, it had to be crossed to reach another wing of the manor, typical for architecture of the 16th century. He found himself agreeing to lead her to the kitchen, where she spoke with the three house elves, enjoying a cup of hot chocolate the eager little sprites offered them both. She learned that Sniksy despised Dobby for rebelling against their masters, but that Pipsy had been very fond of the brave house elf who died saving Harry and his friends. She also realized that Pipsy was very fond of Draco, beaming at the young wizard with huge warm eyes when he asked her how she was doing – a gesture from him Hermione never expected.

It was during this visit that she got an idea concerning the 'Hidden Library'. She was barely out of the kitchen and back in one of the hallways when she caught the Slytherin's arm. "Draco, have you considered the ability of the house elves to find everyone and everything?" She met his bewildered gaze and explained: "They are quite powerful, in their own way. When Harry, Ronald and I were trying to find Mundungus Fletcher, we asked Kreacher for help and three days later he was in the kitchen with us. And Dobby found everything we asked for. He was even able to get into your basement dungeon with Voldemort upstairs. Maybe Sniksy or one of the others could locate the Hidden Library. Maybe they could apparate into it, bring back the documents we need! ... What?"

Draco had been watching her with an unreadable expression, then he started to chuckle at her growing enthusiasm for her new revelation. "Kitten, do you really think you are the first one to think of this?"

"She most certainly is not," a resident in the painting nearby stated coolly, "my grandfather and my cousin suggested the same ploy, but none of the house elves were able to find it."

Hermione turned to look at the image of a younger man with the typical silver blond Malfoy hair, who wore expensive robes in the Baroque style. His grey eyes looked down his long pale nose at her, then addressed Draco. "Forget it, my boy. The search of the Hidden Library is a futile effort."

"Tell that to _her_," Lucius' son sighed, and pulled her along with him, smiling at her huffing. He quickly changed the topic. "The day after tomorrow is New Year's Eve, and we'll have a little party. Nothing big, just a few guests. Interested?"

Her reaction was so typically female, he had to laugh out loud. "I have nothing to wear!" echoed from the marble parquet floor, and another portrait, a stern-looking witch in black robes, nodded with understanding: "I know what you mean, dearie!"

Draco shook his head. "Circle the date in red! Hermione Granger, the bookworm of the century, gets all fluttery because she has no party dress!" Her fist landed on his arm once again and he groaned. "Kitten, stop punching me, or I will be unable to write for weeks – and you'll have to do my homework for me."

"Do I look completely gormless, Draco Malfoy? You're repeating your seventh year and there's no way you need to worry about … _WHAT_?"

"It's true!" he grinned. "You are so cute when you're angry!"

This time he stayed out of reach by racing away as she chased after him, their laughter pealing through a good part of the mansion, and he had another idea.

In her salon, Narcissa raised her head from her book, and in his office Lucius looked up from his calculations, both thinking how welcome was that sound in their home.

Rabastan Lestrange carefully closed the door, shaking his head as Vesuvia slept off the effect of several curses. He growled inwardly, damning the Malfoy patriarch to hell and back. How dare Lucius to raise his wand against her? How dare he attack a witch! It did not occur to him that he would have no problem attacking an unarmed witch himself, especially one who bore no worth in his eyes, but Death Eaters always had a moral blind spot where right and wrong was concerned. Vesuvia, one who had remained loyal, whom he had deigned to take to his bed, was injured because of that traitor, and Lestrange again reinforced his determination to obliterate the whole Malfoy family.

And first he would wipe out the little arrogant bastard who was the heir of the family. It would wound Lucius and Narcissa the worst if they lost their son, standing over the grave as his coffin was lowered into the cold winter soil. That treacherous scoundrel had crossed him too often. First, he refused to die in Hogsmeade, resisted the killing curse, even fought him – with Potter! – and _then_ had the nerve to confront him in the museum ... conniving whelp!

Rabastan was accustomed to being respected and feared. He was used to the fact that his opponents would flee rather than stand up to him. But not this blood traitor. Instead of running away and saving his own worthless life, the boy protected that _stupid_ Muggle-woman, made sure that she and the Mudblood escaped, even shielded those pathetic Muggle-guards with a protection spell. Only then did the skinny bloke take the hint and beat feet.

He knew, of course, that the two would race to Malfoy Manor. The boy was not stupid. He had to know that he risked the girl's safety – and her parents' – if he took her home, so he had to take her with him. And how much Rabastan had enjoyed seeing the surprise and the horror on both students' faces as he and the others emerged from the snow-filled night, firing spells at them. The new leader of the Death Eaters had calculated on young Malfoy lifting the wards around the manor to take the girl to the manse, and he had been right. The moment he and the others walked through the entrance, wild triumph had flowed through his veins.

He was acutely aware they had only minutes until the Aurors would arrive, like the last time they tried to burn down the manor. Lucius had trained the house elves how to respond when under attack, and Rabastan was convinced that one of those stupid minions would race to the Ministry. Therefore he had instructed his fellows to eliminate the three Malfoys as quickly as possible, and he would have killed the Mudblood too, despite Greyback's absurd insistence on taking her for himself. He couldn't care less if the beast had a go with the bint or not.

But, Alas! how quickly the tables were turned. One moment he and the others were performing a blitzkrieg, and in the next they found themselves under fire. Lucius was very skilled, he had to give him that, and his son was well-trained, too. Hell, even the Granger-girl had fought like a real witch, but – on the other hand – how easy she was to manipulate when Fenrir and Draco fought. How interesting that she forgot her own safety to protect Draco. Were they lovers? Rabastan strongly suspected.

And then the Aurors came.

Damn damn DAMN! He had been so certain he would have his revenge…

He suddenly became aware of the faces around him. He had walked from Vesuvia's bedroom to the dining room, where Greyback, Dolohov and the others waited, staring from him to an eagle owl that sat on the table. The bird looked at him with that unblinking gaze, but almost appeared afraid. Nevertheless, it pushed its leg toward him, the one with the letter attached.

"The bloody bird won't let anyone come near it," Greyback growled, jerking his ugly head toward the owl.

"If the letter is for me, the animal did right," Rabastan grumbled, taking the message. Reading it, his face turned red, then brick, and finally almost lilac – and the others put some distance between them and him. And they were right.

"How… how DARE that little _TROUT_ criticize ME! 'You risked exposing us by attacking during daylight' – 'You should focus on our purpose!' – 'There's little time left to find the whereabouts of Salazar Slytherin!'" He crumbled the letter into a ball and hurled it into the fire. "I KNOW, you stupid bint! I know that we are running out of time! Maybe the arrogant little pretender can tell me how to find an unmarked grave or a ruined castle that hundreds of wizards _haven't been able to find in the last thousand years_!"

Dolohov ventured a response, clearing his throat in preamble. "I did as you asked and checked at the museum, and spoke with a member of the staff. I asked him about possibly ruined castles in central eastern England. He told me that they – the Muggles – found evidences of buried ruins beneath the turf, remains of foundation walls which might be dated around the year 1000 found during their surveys. Perhaps this is the clue we need."

Lestrange stared at him. "And how does this help us? The Muggles located remains of some castle or abbey beneath the earth – marvellous! And how shall this show us the way to Slytherin's home or his grave? He certainly wasn't so foolish as to mask his home with earthworks!"

Dolohov shrugged. "It tells us we haven't checked _all_ ruins – that are still some hidden from our eyes. And for the Muggles, Slytherin's grave or castle may look like nothing more than wrecked remains from antiquity. Think of the imagination Hogwarts give to any Muggle, who lays an eye on it. But if we lift the disguising spells, we might find what we're looking for."

For a very long moment Rabastan only glared at him, then he snorted and shook his head. "Still an optimist – after all that happened, Dolohov? When did _you_ learn to think?"

The other Death Eater shook his head. "I'm not an optimist, but an opportunist. When possibilities run out, we look to impossibilities."

Greyback barked a laugh. "You should been a poet, Antonin!"

The wizard gave him a withering look of disdain. Greyback ignored him.

Lestrange wasn't listening. They had to do something. Even though highly offended by the Egyptian witch's letter, he understood that the Ministry was becoming increasingly suspicious of their intentions. They would need to present results to Layla, and quickly. The Dark Mark, progressively more sensitive to the oriental witch's magic, had grown hot since that morning, and when he looked at the tattoo, he could see the Egyptian snake glaring at him with gleaming red eyes– like a promise of what would happen to him and the others if they failed ...

TBC…

_Yeah, a cliffy… I can be mean, as I have been told several times (laugh). _

_In the next chapter our two love-birds will face the shadows of their own past and are going to struggle against their own haunting demons – after all, the war and certain events at the manor left their scars on both of them. But where is darkness, there is also light - a light both are willing to share with each other. _

_I do hope you liked the last chapter and I would be head-over-heels to receive new reviews. _

_Love you all, _

_until next time, _

_yours Lywhn!_


	54. Making New Memories

_Hallo, my dear Readers!_

_I am so sorry that it lasted once again so long until the next chapter went online, but in the moment spare time is a rare thing and the work 'grows over the head', like we are saying in Germany. Nevertheless I hope you still waited for the next instalment of the story and that you are going to like it._

_Thank you so very, very much for the many reactions and reviews. I'm still head over heels that the story has now so many excited readers._

_Have fun – and, to give a fair warning, it is going to be veeeery romantic and sweet!_

_Love you all,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 53 – Making New Memories**

Later that afternoon, Hermione returned to her guest-room to freshen up. Inside the door, she stopped. On the bed lay the dress she'd worn for Christmas in Hogwarts, including her robe and the shoes. Beside the bed stood a school trunk. Opening it, she found two pairs of jeans, several pullovers and sweaters, shirts and nightgowns, as well as some personal care items and a pair of boots, things she knew were stored in her room at Hogwarts, and she knew then who had arranged it.

She banged at Draco's door, and he opened it. "Anything wrong, Kitten?" he asked, wriggling his brows, and then welcomed the girl who hugged him, beaming.

"Thank you!" she whispered.

His grin broadened. "Yeah, Pipsy can be quite insistent. I told her what you needed. She went to Hogwarts, pulled Kreacher out of the kitchen and wouldn't let him go until he took her to your room and threatened to biff him until everything was packed."

Planting a kiss on his mouth, she whooped, "My dark knight!" Turning, she raced down the corridor. And Draco knew where she was heading, that she would burst into the manor's kitchen to thank Pipsy, instead of simply summoning her.

Moments later, Hermione reached the enormous kitchen, espied the helpful sprite standing on a chair at the sink and flew to her side. Pipsy's eyes almost popped when she found herself in the affectionate embrace of the young witch, who placed a kiss on her cheek, thanking her for fetching her clothes. Tears welled up in her large eyes when she felt the gratitude radiating off the girl, her little heart drank in the love like a dry sponge soaking up water. "It was no trouble, Miss. Pipsy went to the school in the castle and found Kreacher, and Kreacher helped Pipsy to bring Miss her clothes," she squeaked.

"Oh, it certainly was a lot of trouble. Hogwarts isn't around the corner, and the trunk must have been heavy," Hermione protested. "Thank you so so much, Pipsy. I owe you one."

Sniksy and Jumper could only stare at their guest and their little friend, hardly believing what was happening. A sudden hissing from the pot notified them that the water had boiled away, and with an oath, Sniksy pulled the pot from the fire, rescuing the food. Hermione realized that she had almost caused a mess. "Sorry, Sniksy, might I help with that?" she pointed at the pot.

The elf nearly dropped it in shock. Had a witch offered to _help_? With _elves' work_? He blinked and shook his head to clear his thoughts – a gesture Hermione misunderstood. "Oh! All right, I just thought … well, never mind. I have to wash and to change, so-"

"Oh, no, Miss" Sniksy piped up. "Sniksy don't wanna offend Miss. Sniksy didn't trust his ears. Thank you, Miss, but this work is to do for me."

His English was more than adequate. It seems as if the Malfoys – or at least Draco and Narcissa – made certain they were taught certain things. "I understand, Sniksy. Your cooking is delicious, and I've enjoyed all the special things you've done for me while I'm here. If there is something I can do for you three, let me know." She winked at them and left, leaving three befuddled house-elves watching the door.

She headed back to the main stair and headed upward. It was only as she reached the top that she realized that she had to cross a corner of the dreaded dining room. Averting her eyes from the burn in the carpet from the sparks from Bellatrix's wand, from the spot where she'd lain – tortured and a hair from breaking only eight months ago – she almost ran to the door that led to the private area, took a deep breath as she left the miserable room behind her, and walked the rest of the way back to her guest room.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The sun set early, and night had spread a cloak from east to west, bringing more wind and snow with it, Hermione found herself once again in the salon, dining with the Malfoys. She had changed into another pair of jeans, a dark blue shirt and a jumper in several different shades of blue over the shirt. Her hair was pulled back into a pony-tail and she had put on a touch of make-up. Draco's eyes lit up when he saw, and his parents had looked momentarily surprised, too, as they politely welcomed her to dinner. Hermione explained how Draco had sent Pipsy to Hogwarts to collect some of her clothes, including a party dress for the day after tomorrow. And as the Slytherin-Prince added that this dress was a sight to behold – elegant, impressive and very fitting – he woke his mother's curiosity, what was always a good thing.

Hermione found it more comfortable to talk with Narcissa over dinner, noting again that the lady was charming once the mask of arrogance had fallen away. And this evening, even Lucius joined the conversation, discussing the potential of a certain potion, revealing substantial knowledge about this branch of witchcraft, just like Draco. He listened to Hermione's explanation of the mixture of 'Living Death.' Over dessert, Narcissa recalled a situation she'd gotten into with Slughorn when she attended Hogwarts, and how she and her friends were able to delay their Detention over and over again, until he simply forgot about it.

Hermione laughed, familiar with the forgetfulness of the potions professor. Draco recalled another episode from three years ago, when Blaise had been partnered with Goyle, of all people, and assigned to brew a complicated potion. It had begun to bubble and smoke dangerously. Snape was quickly proceeding to intervene when the whole thing exploded, most of it ending up on the professor. Hermione, remembering the incident, started to giggle, agreeing with Draco that she'd never seen the man more shocked, covered in green liquid from hair to shoes. The colour remained for days, and he suffered snickers and guffaws up and down the hallways from students and staff alike. Even Lucius chuckled at the tale.

Dinner had turned out to be an easy affair. Narcissa glanced at her son, seeing him so relaxed, eyes shining whenever he looked at the girl, watching her amiability with her husband, this sensible and sensitive woman began to suspect something she didn't want to face just now. Never before she had witnessed her son like this. The young witch seemed to trust him. And there was their laughter ringing through the house that afternoon, sounding to all ears like friends who knew each other very well.

_Or_, she barely dared to touch the thought, _like __lovebirds__._ Her son had sent his own house-elf to fetch clothes for the girl, to make her stay here more comfortable. Pansy had visited at the manor several times, but it seemed Draco couldn't have cared less if she had everything she needed. This was ... different.

Promising herself that she would ask Draco about it her first suitable opportunity, Narcissa finished her meal and excused her son and their guest as they rose from the table.

The two young people retired to 'study together.' The parents bid them good night. They went to Draco's room where they actually did research. But after two stressful days, and having studied several hours that day, their eyes grew heavy, and both were yawning before it was very late. Knowing that they couldn't dare get caught together, Hermione bid him goodnight, and returned to her own room, taking a shower dressing for bed, sighing in contentment as she slipped into her own pyjamas.

As soon as her head hit the pillow, her thoughts surfaced, her mind was becoming more awake circling around the latest events, which led straight to her present stay at the manor.

The mansion was impressive. She had visited castles when she was younger, some were ruins, some now hotels or museums. She knew intellectually that there was a huge difference if a building was truly occupied or only kept as a reminder of things historical, but here she felt the difference. She admired the carved stonework of the walls and ceilings, the exquisite style of classic mixed with more modern amenities. She liked the space the manor offered. The garden was beautiful – Narcissa's eyes had lit up as Hermione told of her impression of the gardens – and the library was a place she could get lost in.

_If not for that horrible place on the first level, where she'd faced the worst trial of her short life ... _

She knew she'd shoved the memory of it into the back of her mind, refusing to think of it. She'd been cut from the others, dragged by her hair. That evil face twisted by her greed and fear, jabbing her with pain again and again. "Where did you get this sword? WHERE?" She'd begged, lied. "We found it, we found it! PLEASE..." The voice echoed from her memory. "Tell the truth. _Tell the truth! CRUCIO!_" The sound of her own screams ... "A copy, just a copy... Please!"

Hermione had experienced unbelievable agony, and her only support was her own determination to reveal nothing; the sword of Godric Gryffindor, the Deathly Hallows, the horcruxes. The thought of being the thin end of the wedge, responsible for the triumph or downfall of the Dark Lord, had given her the strength to hold on; to be stronger than the pain, to hold on just a little longer, just one more minute, and one more minute ... She understood how the Longbottoms could have been driven mad, unable to escape the wicked torment.

And then, rescue – Harry, Ron and Dobby. She didn't remember much of those moments her friends struggled with the insane Bellatrix, a furious Greyback and a cowardly Wormtail. She knew that Draco tried to fight off Harry (rather tried to protect his mother) and that Harry was able to wrench the wands from the Slytherin's hands – what would have been impossible regarding the given circumstances, if Draco would have really _wanted_ to keep them. And then she was suddenly at the beach of the sea; away from Malfoy Manor and save. Her body had ached for days after the torture, the episode becoming a blur to her. Eventually she healed, under Fleur's sweet care. Because of the subsequent events, Hermione hadn't thought about it any more than necessary. Tonight, she found that the residual terror still burned in her soul. Staying under the roof where she had to endure the horror was taking its toll – now, after the she had recovered from the chase and the fight with Lestrange and his Death Eaters.

Wiping her face, Hermione found tears pouring from her eyes. She was grieving for the innocent teenager baptized in the fire of that encounter. Turning in her bed, Hermione tried to force her thoughts away from that time. She reminded herself that the past _was_ passed, and that she was now welcome here. Yes, Lucius seemed to be the same arrogant prick he had always been, but she had seen another side of him: the worried father and family-patriarch, one who cared deeply for his wife and son. And Narcissa: wasn't so bad. She was beautiful, of course, but it had always been a cold beauty – aloof and patronizing. But, as with Lucius, Hermione now faced another Lady Malfoy – a mother and wife, and a charming hostess and sometime gardener.

Forcing her thoughts to focus on the present, restraining the memories of her first 'visit' here, she finally fell asleep.

It was not an easy sleep, as her subconscious released the demons. Suddenly she was back there. Again she was writhing in pain, heard the shrill voice of Bellatrix Lestrange, demanding answers and hurling the _Cruciatus_-curse at her. She felt the iron arm of the insane witch pressing her to herself, the silver knife drawing blood at her throat in a sickeningly intimate -

Scream barely captured behind her teeth, Hermione sat up, images of the nightmare still before her. With wide, dark eyes she looked around herself, disorientated. There was the fire, the friendly flame flickering, wood crackling, sparks darting up the chimney. Bed curtains. Batiste. Then she remembered where she was. A new shiver darted under her skin and part of her wanted nothing more than to _run away_.

Hermione groaned and closed her eyes, flopping back onto the pillow. Condemn it all, what happened was in the _past_! This was the _present_. That insane hag was as dead as Voldemort, the Malfoys had switched sides, and Draco had not only neatly slipped into her heart but also into her bed. Narcissa was warming up to her and Lucius was attempting to be polite … But still she longed to run away, to put the manor behind her and to never look back.

It was those words – that she wanted to _run away_ – that she heard and made her angry. She was not one who ran away from a challenge. She rather met any situation with logic, determination. After a few moments of quiet consideration, she realized what she had to do to put this out of her mind.

She had face those demons. She had to overcome her fright. She had to stop seeing this property as her own personal horror movie. She knew what her next step had to be.

The thought of it made her sick to her stomach, but being a brave (and quite stubborn) Gryffindor, she flung her covers aside, took her wand from the nightstand and rose. Slipping on a pair of warm socks and a thick robe, she left her room and padded down the hallway. Whispering, _"Lumos,"_ her wand lit the way. Then she stepped through a door and into the very hall she had avoided until now as far as possible. Shills crept through her body, invisible claws seemed to crawl down her spine, leaving traces of ice behind.

The dining room was drawn in darkness, only the almost full moon, shining through the tall windows, dispelled some of the twilight, bathing the furniture, the large carpet, the two occupants sleeping in their portraits, the floor and walls in a pale light. It was cold here, the fire had been left to burn out. It was quiet enough to hear her own unsteady breathing – not the peaceful quiet, as in the rest of the manor, but with the presentiment of evil. The presence of Voldemort, even after his demise, seemed to cling still to the wood of the furniture, seemed to hide in the folds of the velvet curtains and seemed to linger in the carpet. The Dark Lord was dead, yes, but he seemed to hang in the air, like the smell of a long dead skunk beside the road: the jealous hatred, the disdain of anything kind or sweet, his rejection of every warm feeling, his disgust at even the mention of love…

Hermione gulped, looked at the two portraits and added a sleeping-spell on them. She didn't want them reporting to the present lord of the manor that she'd been here at night. She shivered, wrapping her slender arms around herself, and forced her eyes to wander over to that spot on the carpet where she'd first fallen, wriggling helplessly as curse after curse hit her. For a long moment she was reliving the experience in flashback. She saw Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy's tight, pale faces as they witnessed the atrocity, she saw the shock on Draco's features before he closed his eyes, pressed his hands on his ears and turned away; saw Greyback watching her with greed and hunger. And she saw the deteriorated, insane beauty of Bellatrix Lestrange, framed by her black mane, her eyes gleaming in pleasure.

Suddenly released from the memory, Hermione approached the spot with the burn mark in the large, expensive carpet. Staring down on it, Hermione clenched her teeth as her stomach turned.

No! She was stronger than this! She had endured the torture, had tricked the crazy bitch and had escaped! Game over. End of story…

But her heart refused to see it as her logical mind did. The moment she closed her eyes, voices again echoed through the room. _"I'm going to ask you again!"_ Bellatrix' high voice screeched. _"What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!" _Hermione gulped and shook her head, trying to chase the voice away, but no use. _"You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it!… How did you get into my vault? Tell the truth, TELL THE TRUTH" _

Tears brimmed in the girl's eyes, the pain from all those months ago seemed to become real again. "We found it … We found it …!"

"_What else did you take? What else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!"_

"We weren't there! Please…!"

Two long arms wrapped about her, and a familiar voice whispered: "Sh-sh, Kitten, take it easy! It's over – she is gone for good…"

For a moment she struggled, refusing to be held against her will. Then with the smell of his skin, she knew who it was. She was back. The dining room was again free of enemies, Draco was with her, and the ghosts of the past faded away. She took a deep breath and deliberately relaxed.

Draco pulled his lover around and into a tight embrace, facing him. He could feel her heart beating at his like a frightened bird, and when she shivered, he only pulled her more tightly to him. Her arms firmly wrapped about him and he gasped, having forgotten just how strong this girl was. He stroked her back in slow circles.

Draco had slept lightly until suddenly Pipsy shook him awake, nervously informing him that the 'nice Miss' was in the large dining room, clearly upset and crying. Immediately wide-awake, Draco had practically jumped out of bed, snatched up a warm robe and his wand, and ran down to the dining room. He expected that things would come to this eventually. What Hermione had experienced here would haunt them all, and his little lioness was sensitive and vulnerable. Of course she had to endure the memories, and of course she would face her fears by visiting the room by herself. Dammit, why hadn't she come to him? He would have gone with her – after all, he owed her that much. And this room was a personal nightmare for him, too. He could help her …

He had immediately gone to the dining room, Pipsy trotting along behind him. He sent her away, asking her to alert him should one of his parents awaken and leave their bedroom. And then he had found her – a small heap hugging herself, pleading with his dead aunt to stop the torment. Ability to resist the torture of the _cruciatus_ curse was extremely unusual. Lying under the torture as she did, keeping their secrets, had inspired his highest respect after he learned that the sword his aunt was torturing Hermione about had been the real one, and not a fake as Hermione had repeated. Well, Gryffindor stubbornness had prevailed – and now again.

He cast a silencing spell over the room and another sleeping spell over the portraits. Pressing a kiss to her temple, he looked down at her. She stepped back, sniffing noisily, and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "Better now?" She took a shaky breath and shrugged. He sighed. "Why did you go into this bloody room alone? Why didn't you waken me?"

She shrugged again before she whispered back, "I … I had to! Those awful nightmares … I refuse be afraid of a _room_! For pity's sake, I fought in a _war_, and now I'm afraid of a stupid _room!"_

He smiled - so typical Hermione Granger! Looking at her thoughtfully, he said, "You are not afraid of a room, but of the past," he corrected her softly. "Its demons come when you least expect them, lurking in your soul, and will until you have divested yourself of them."

Hermione blinked back new tears. There it was again: that sensible side of him she found so attractive.

He added with a grimace: "Yeah, I know what' I'm talking about. I have my own demons…" His voice trailed off, as his eyes were drawn to the long table, remembering himself sitting there between his parents, listening to the spine-chilling voice of Voldemort ... the Professor of Muggle-Studies, Charity Burbage, hanging upside-down above the table ... her pleas for help ... Nagini gliding towards her ... finally engulfing her …

He shuddered, closing his eyes.

At the touch of fingertips on his cheek, the images dissipated like smoke from a candle, and he looked into the compassionate eyes of the girl. Only weeks ago, he had refused any kind of compassion, had called it pity. But since their talk after the 'battle of Hogsmeade,' when he confessed his relationship with Snape, and how his godfather's actions demonstrated to him the difference between compassion and pity, he allowed it. Knowing Hermione had faced similar horrors as he had only bound him more firmly to this intelligent and warm-hearted young woman. They both had been through hell and back. And lived to tell the tale, one might add.

Hermione had heard his words and seen his thoughts turn back. "I know," she said, drawing him back to the present. "The demons will not have me or any other part of my life." She bit her lips. "I came here to convince myself that that day is history, and nothing else anymore. Her ghost seems to see it differently."

Draco nodded. "We will never forget them, but perhaps …" His gaze found the empty chair at the head of the table, once his father's then Voldemort's.

Following his gaze, it came to her that this had to be the very room in which their meetings were held. She knew that Riddle had headquartered at the manor whenever he was in Britain, and she also knew that the Malfoys had been prisoners in their own home, after Lucius fell from grace and Draco did not fulfil his task to kill Dumbledore. She assumed that Voldemort didn't kill them because of Snape and possibly Bellatrix. The dark professor was a talented manipulator, even with Tom Riddle, who trusted him. Perhaps Bellatrix had used her influence on the Dark Lord to save her sister's husband and son. Not out of love for them, mind you! She remembered the disgusted tone Bellatrix used toward Lucius and Draco. But to her credit: in her own way, Bellatrix had loved her sister Narcissa. Perhaps she convinced Voldemort to spare the husband and son to spare her sister sorrow. Hermione couldn't know how accurate her speculations were, but considering that Voldemort readily used the killing-curse on those who disappointed him, she was fairly certain of their accuracy.

Voldemort – Tom Riddle … A competent, talented wizard who discarded every scrap of humanity in his attempt to achieve immortality and to 'cleanse' the world of Muggles and Muggle-borns, because his own father – a Muggle – left his mother, abandoning him to an orphanage. At times she wondered what might have happened to Riddle if he'd raised within a loving family, like Draco.

Draco followed her gaze to the spot where she was looking and sighed. "Yes, there." He turned half around, holding one arm firmly around her waist.

Hermione frowned. "But … no chair?"

Draco scoffed. "Father chopped it into pieces and burned it after Voldemort's death, when we were put under house arrest until our trial. It didn't get rid of the memories, but it helped."

"You still see him over there, don't you?" she asked quietly.

Draco nodded. "Everything in here reminds me of him." He took a deep breath. "When I was a child, my family used this room for the parties and holiday feasts. Whenever we had guests, we ate here. At birthdays or their anniversaries, we celebrated them here. Evenings before I returned to Hogwarts, we had a big dinner here. When I got my first toy broom, Father taught me how to fly in this room because outside it was raining." He sighed. "But all those wonderful memories, Christmases, birthdays, parties, have been pushed aside by that ... that rampant beast …"

Hermione bit her lip. "Perhaps your father had the right idea, chasing a way the ghosts. You could redesign the room and make it the centre of the mansion again." Raising her eyebrows, she glanced up to him. He could seen the old sparkle back in her eyes in the moonlight.

"You think perhaps ... _we_ should change this room?" He paused, then lifted his wand. "Like this?" He whispered a charm and beginning at one end of the room and slowly progressing to the opposite wall, the furniture changed from the ornate Tudor-style to the cleaner Empire-style. The wood remained the dark elegant mahogany, but the appearance was completely different.

The Empire style was known for the clean lines mixed with classic and antique, represented in the furniture now. The backrests of the chairs were curved out at their ends, the frames straight, and the seats and backs upholstered with sand-coloured silk. The long table legs ended in paws. Along the sides of the tabletop were inlays of serpents, feathers and spears. The other furniture, like the sideboard and the low chest of drawers, included the silver inlaid work around their tops and bottoms. The doors showed a winged horse in a half-circle of snakes – the head raised, the neck arched, the bodies reared up and the large wings spread.

Hermione whistled softly. "This… this is exquisite!" she murmured and looked at the long table, glad for the distractions. "But … something's missing." She waved her own wand and of the stack of flotsam on the table, a large flower arrangement appeared on the middle of the table, made of white flowers, mirroring the snowy weather outside.

Draco had to smile – typical female! – and turned his eyes onto the curtains. "Those remain the same. All of the windows in the manor are decorated thus."

"I agree," she replied, "but let us do something about this bloody awful carpet!" she growled. _Bloody awful indeed, her own blood had been shed on the damn thing._ Whispering another charm, the sandy-coloured carpet was changed into a dark green Persian one, showing the characteristic image of an oriental garden: in the centre, a fountain, around it paths and benches, flowerbeds and a wall. Hermione knew that green carpets were rare, because in the Orient, green was the colour of Mohammed, and only used in prayer rugs. But in this case, this colour stood for something else. It not only perfectly matched the curtains, it also was in the emblem of the Malfoy-family. It was also Slytherin's personal hue – and so she decided to use a colour none of its creators would use for a 'simple' carpet.

Draco admired the new floor covering, pointing out some of the details to her and complimenting her. Then his glance found the heavy chandeliers, hanging by thick black chains from the ceiling. "One of these nearly killed me. If not for my mother's skill as a healer, I would have a scar now on my cheek." He swept his wand in a wide circle, and the chandeliers transformed into the lighter crystal ones, also in the Empirical style. Then the floor. "This dark red will no longer do!" With another spell, he changed the parquet into white and black marble, similar to other parts of the house.

Finally satisfied with their work, they looked around. The room was transformed. The ghosts were gone. "I like this!" Draco said happily. "If I am ever the head of the house, I'll make certain that this room looks exactly like this."

Hermione looked at him, and her eyes twinkled. "Why don't we let it this way?"

He stared at her as if doubting her sanity. "Do you have any idea what my parents would say? Mother would faint and Father would explode – or send me to St. Mungos."

She shrugged. "Why? Your parents hate what happened here, too. And I am certain that they're struggling with their own demons. Your mother feared for the lives of you and your father for months, as well as for her own safety – as she was never a real Death Eater. And your father had to endure all those bitter humiliations over and over again right here, in this room. His wand was taken away, he had no say in his own home and was almost turned into a…" She stopped, blushing.

"Into an alcoholic," Draco finished for her, sighing again. "Yeah, I know. I am sure that they'll want to redecorate this room some day, but I don't think they will appreciate it now." He looked around. "But it would be a good new start." He felt Hermione's free hand stroking his back and turned to her, offering her a half smile. "We not only have to leave the old memories behind us, we have to make new ones."

"Yes, you do," she answered gently.

"As do you," he nodded, slipping his arm around her shoulders. He felt a shiver going through her. "Cold?"

"A little, but at least not because of this place anymore." She saw his eyes light up and leaned her head against his shoulder. She watched his lips moving, and to her right, the fireplace sprang to life again, fuelled by several logs from the pile on the hearth. Hermione chuckled. "You're really good at wandless magic." She poked her finger into his side. "And you still have to teach me."

He grinned. "Well … you offered something quite tempting in return – so I think I will agree to the deal."

Hermione's eyes widened. "What deal? What offer was that?"

He lowered his head toward hers and smirked: "You can't have forgotten your deposit, Kitten – that ... that _kiss_ you gave me on your bed at Hogwarts!" He watched her cheeks redden and turned to wrap both arms around her, wriggling his eyebrows. He felt lighter now, as if t a weight he didn't know he carried had fallen off his shoulders. And having her here, in his arms, her body against his, her eyes looking into his face her scent filling his senses ...

And with this an idea formed in his head, a dangerous idea, but like all risky things: it turned out well in the end ... as long as you didn't get caught. And he was determined to be one who took the risk and came out of it unharmed.

As his gaze drank in the sweet features a of his little lioness, an idea took wing. A new era would begin for this part of the manor – now. Tonight! Voldemort was dead, and he would no longer allow a dead man's deeds affect his home one second longer. He was young. He could overcome the past – even as the beautiful girl in his arms would. And perhaps together they could create a new memory for this room.

He bent his head and swept her lips with his – a gentle gesture that quickly changed into something more intense. And to his joy, she joined him after a few seconds of hesitation, meeting his searching tongue with her own, challenging him to an erotic battle for dominance.

Hermione sighed as she felt the familiar heat filling her body, drawn to him – his taste, his scent and the familiar texture of his mouth and his skin. Her dropped and rolled over the rich carpet into the shadows under the table, while she tangled her fingers into his hair, delighting in its silkiness. The warmth of his body warmed her skin, making her tremble.

They came up gasping for air – both flushed, both their bodies on fire. It had been so long since they hadn't been together – for young lovers an eternity! – and they yearned to become one again. Without wasting a further thought, Draco dropped his robe in front of the fireplace and it became two large, cosy furs, like Hermione had done with the flowers.

"What…?" the Gryffindor-Queen began, and stifled a squeak as he lifted her on his arms, carrying her to the furs. "Draco, what are you doing?" she whispered, half giggling, half shocked. _If they were caught…_

"I heed on your counsel, my Kitten" he met her eyes, "making new memories." He went down on his knees and laid her carefully on the furs.

Hermione, who realized that he was quite serious, tried to rise, but he quickly covered her body with his, bracing himself on his forearms beside her head. "Draco, if your parents hear us – catch us! – then…"

He shook his head, eyes gleaming with mischief and determination. "I've used a silencing spell around this room and the master bedroom is in another wing. And I believe you put the portraits in around us to sleep." His lips brushed hers again, and Hermione regretted his ability to make her knees weak and to change her body into pudding with one kiss or one touch. Her hands found his waist of their own accord, while her mind tried to focus. She groaned in frustration, as her lover pressed the hot, hard proof of his desire against her responsive core, and started to nip at her neck – at the exact spot that turned her into a helpless bundle of singing nerves and burning passion.

"Draco, stop! We can't…" she began and moaned as he sucked at her skin, while his fingers touching her face, her temples. _Oh, this boy_! Another minute more and she would be melted wax in his hands … most of her wanted nothing more than to melt into him and to forget everything around her.

"Relax, sweet Kitten. Everything will be all right," he murmured at her ear, before sending his tongue dancing along its shell. Satisfied, he heard her gasp and felt her legs parting to circle his. How he had longed to feel her like this again! He was starving for her, this he knew, and he couldn't care less that they were not behind locked doors, but by the fireplace in his parents' dining room. But it was in the middle of the night, everyone was asleep and it was hours before the sun would rise again.

Hermione sighed – this time not in dread, but in anticipation and eagerness – and captured his mouth with hers. Then, sending all concerns away, she drew him closer and slipped her fingers beneath his shirt, pulling it over his head, ignoring the buttons. The firelight danced on his pale skin, turning it gold, glistened in his gilded hair, and mirrored in his silver eyes. With practiced hands he did the same, threw her pyjama top and finally her pants and socks aside, drinking in the sight of her, lying there in all her naked glory on a heap of thick furs in the front of the fireplace, her brown curls spread around her like fire-lit polished mahogany, her long lashes like silken fawns, drawing him, beckoning, promising. He shivered as she allowed one fingertip to lightly stroke his chest down to his waistband, her nail lightly scratching him. And as she raised her head and snaked one arm around him, trailing kisses over his chest, his breath caught in his throat. _Merlin, this girl was driving him crazy._ He never had a lover who could do this to him so easily – and to lie with her on a makeshift bed of pelts, next to a leaping fire, made him dizzy with want.

With trembling fingers he helped her to remove the rest of his clothes, and threw them carelessly aside, pressing her into the soft pelage, kissing her everywhere he could put his mouth. He longed to be one with her. This was no ardent, mindless coupling, but intense lovemaking, meant to create the strong memories of the present and discard the demons of the past. With each tender fondling, with each loving caress, their souls took another step toward healing, while the ghosts into shadows without a whimper.

As the two young lovers explored one another, and finally became one, forgetting everything around them, their cries of pleasure banished the last evil breath of the phantom that had haunted this place – and made room for new memories …

TBC…

Yeah, I warned you that it will be a romantic chapter – and I do hope you loved it. I had the idea that there has to be something to do about the hurtful memories concerning the past and the dining-room and remembered that only the haunting ghosts of a terrible earlier event can be chased away by making new ones – sweet and lovingly.

_Hopefully the whole atmosphere I imagined caught you (laugh)._

_In the next chapter the deeds of our two lovebirds are of the last days will bring some chaos – of course!._

_I would love to read from you again._

_Love, _

_Lywhn _


	55. Changes in Malfoy Manor

_Hallo once again, my dear Readers!_

_Yeah, finally the next chapter. Sorry for the delay but time is flying in the moment, the first Christmas-businesses are blooming and the days are simply too short. Sigh. But now the next chapter is up and I hope you're going to enjoy it like I did during my writing. _

_I wish you fun, _

_have a wonderful 1. Advent,_

_thank you so very much for the reviews, _

_yours Lywhn!_

**Chapter 54 – Changes in Malfoy Manor**

The first rays of the winter sun peeked over the horizon and bathed the white landscape in a display of glistening snow crystals. The clear night had been cold, and another beautiful winter day was on its way.

In the main dining room of Malfoy manor, two young people lay asleep, limbs entwined, smiles not far from their lips. The girl began to stir and sighed deeply.

Hermione escaped Morpheus' soft bindings slowly, but something was telling her that her present situation was ... unusual. After last year, she had learned to listen to that inner voice. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she saw two things simultaneously: first, the familiar face of a sleeping Draco Malfoy; second, that they were on the floor - of a very large room. Trying to sort out these images, she became aware that she was enveloped not only in her lover's arms and legs, but also from something… _furry_? She lifted her head and saw that she really was buried in several pelts.

With another sigh, Hermione lay back, enjoying in the delicious feeling of furs on her bare skin. The air was chill, but the pelts (and Draco) kept her warm. She smiled, remembering the preceding night – the way she and her forbidden lover caressed and fondled each other, the sensation of the furs around them, the crackling of the flames in the fireplace, the ecstasy she had felt in his arms. They had made love many nights since he successfully seduced her after Slughorn's Advent party, and in the hours after the Christmas feast, as their parting approached, they had come together even more intensely, but last night topped them all. They had loved each other with fierce tenderness that had opened them both to new sensitivity and intimacy. She had surrendered completely to him and her feelings, which drove her to him with no way back. And as she straddled him when he rolled himself on his back, taking her with him, she had seen the same sweet surrender on his face – and the strength of the warmth in his eyes. They had forgotten everything around them, even the room that held so much sorrow for them …

She bolted upright, eyes wide, ears straining for a sound. Her head whipped around as she took in their location, and she groaned, seeing that they were – indeed – in the main dining room of the mansion. Naked. And the first light through the windows told her that it was morning.

_Morning…_

_The Malfoys…_

_Oh NO!_

"Draco!" she whispered urgently, "Draco, wake up!" She shook him and earned a moan and a growl. Oh no! That dreadful morning temperament! "_Wake u_p!" she hissed, shaking him more roughly now. One eyelid rose halfway – finally! – he mumbled, "Wha'?"

"Get up, now! We're in the dining room, it's morning and your parents can be here any moment!"

Draco, completely dozy, stifled a yawn. "Just send 'em 'way!" he replied, and moved closer to her and prepared to doze off again, when she snapped in his ear: "Draco Malfoy! _Your parents_ are about to catch us_ naked_ – in a love nest on the _floor of their own dining room_!"

This time, the words penetrated, and yawning, he opened both eyes, blinked at the windows, rubbed his face and looked around him – then sat bolt upright, uttering an oath and almost colliding with Hermione. Taking in his surroundings, memory had returned.

With another oath, more foul than the first, he pulled his lover to her feet, throwing Hermione's clothes at her, before he slipped in his own pants – giving the Muggle born witch a delightful view of his entire form, bathed in sunlight. Despite their situation, Hermione couldn't help but sigh at the sight of his tall youthful ... exuberance.

Draco caught her staring and smirked for a moment. "Like what you see?" he teased and Hermione smirked at the shared joke.

"Yes," she nodded, sliding on her own pyjamas and socks, now being observed with equal appreciation.

"Mutual!" he snickered and held out his hand. "_Accio_ wand!" he whispered and it flew straight into his hand, preparing to undo the transformations about them.

"Where is mine?" he heard her ask.

He sighed in exasperation. "Granger! You and that wand!" He pinched his nose. "That's the first wandless magic I'm going to teach you."

It was that moment they both heard Pipsy's voice in the hallway, discussing the upcoming dinner tomorrow with someone – in an unusually loud voice. Both students momentarily froze, eyes wide on each other, then Draco reacted. "_Accio_ Granger's wand!" he whispered, and threw it at Hermione a second later.

"…Pipsy will be happy to talk to you later about it-" The elf's shouts were followed by a thunderous sneeze, and then the stern voice of Narcissa Malfoy.

Both paused, staring at each other with wildly beating hearts. The lady of the house would be here in seconds ... !

Thinking quickly, Draco turned the furs back to robes, dragging them and his little Gryffindor to one of the windows.

"But the furniture-" Hermione began, and he shook his head.

"No time!" He pushed her behind folds of the long plush velvet curtain and slipped beside her. It wasn't the most inventive places to hide, but it was sufficient. Both of them cast illusion charms just as the lady of the house gasped ...

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Narcissa Malfoy woke that morning feeling unusually light, certain that something good was about to happen that day. She felt it 'in her bones' and for a moment, she was tempted to pull the blanket over her head and enjoy it, but this feeling of something interesting lurking somewhere in the shadows wouldn't let her lie there. Finally she could bear it no longer and rose. She slid from the tall warm bed and slipped on her robe, heading to the bathroom to start her day. She cast an affectionate look at her husband when she rounded the bed. Lucius was still asleep, and his long hair was a mess. Sighing, the witch closed the door, and when she reappeared half an hour later – freshly showered and coiffed, and wearing a morning robe – her husband sat up, clearly not yet truly awake. His grey eyes were small slits in the morning light, and he glanced around. He grumbled a 'good morning', shoved the tangled strands away from his face, and looked about, as if he didn't know what to do with himself.

"Sleep well, Luc?" Narcissa asked and got an answer that was typical for her husband in the morning: a mixture of a groan, a mumble and a deep sigh. She smiled – he and his son had so much in common.

Lucius was still very tired. He had lain awake until, well, after midnight, thinking about what Draco and Hermione Granger revealed to him; turning over the riddles, pondering the dangers his son obviously was facing. He'd finally fallen asleep around two, unaware of the girl tiptoeing to the dining room to face her own demons. Now awake, Lucius knew he couldn't sleep again and tossed the covers back. If it was morning, he could do some administrative work he had put off the last few days. He was aware that his wife was wide awake and shook his head. He was the 'night person' and Narcissa the 'morning person'. _'__Somehow she always manages to look the lady through and through.'_

"Take your time, darling, I'll be in the salon," Narcissa kissed him on the forehead and left the master bedroom, almost tripping over Pipsy who was sleeping in the doorway. Frowning, Narcissa bent over the house elf she had just waked up. Pipsy rubbed her eyes and jumped to her feet, curtsying hastily.

"What ... what are you doing here?" the lady inquired.

The protruding eyes looked up and down the hall before she squeaked: "Pipsy fell asleep, noble Lady, as she wanted to-"

Narcissa waved her aside. "Never mind. Is the tea hot?"

"Almost, Madame," Pipsy responded, following her mistress down the hall. She was quite distressed, twisting her thin hands together. Her young master had ordered her to warn him when one of his parents left their bedroom, and what had she done? Fallen asleep! She fervently prayed that Master Draco was no longer in the dining room with the girl Pipsy had grown quite fond of. If the two were caught, it would be her fault. Her mind raced, only to come up the idea: to talk to her mistress about the upcoming New Years Eve's dinner – loudly.

Narcissa resisted the urge to cover her ears. _Not that high-pitched squeal so early in the morning!_ "Pipsy, we'll talk about it later!" she said over the elf's inane babbling, and rubbed her temple with one hand, as the house elf answered even louder "Of course, noble Lady. Pipsy will be happy to talk to you later about it – " She caught the irritated and baffled gaze of her mistress and her sneeze thundered loud enough to make the windows tremble. _Hopefully the young master heard them – if he was still in the dining room, that's it_.

Narcissa stopped and turned to face the little one, fists akimbo. "Stop that noise, you stupid thing!" she snapped.

The helpful sprite looked up with her most innocent looks. "Pipsy caught cold," she said, feeling the pain of lying to her mistress, but her love for her young master was stronger.

Sighing, Narcissa waved her off. "Then go to bed and cure it."

Pipsy raised her eyes to her mistress, then bowed deeply. "Thank you, Lady! Thank you for allowing Pipsy to take resting!"

Narcissa sighed, throwing her hands into the air. "Elves!" Narcissa proceeded down the corridor, her slippers silent as she walked down the hallway, smiling as she noticed the clear day through the windows. She passed the entrance to the dining room and threw a casual glance into the hall as she did every morning, before she continued her way and…

And stopped dead exactly three steps later.

Had she seen it right? A _green_ carpet? Black and white _marble_ on the floor? In the _dining room_?

Eyes like saucers, she turned back. Had she imagined it ... But there it all was. She took in the changed room – the strange furniture, the new carpet, the different look of the floor… even the chandeliers had been redesigned.

Disbelieving, she moved over the threshold, glancing around. Where the heavy complicated Tudor style had been, the straight and classical, upright style of two hundred years ago now dominated. The walls and the ceiling, as well as the curtains, were the same, but the room had a completely different ambiance. It was still exquisite, costly, but easier on the eyes, less dark. She found the flower arrangement on the long table, the pale covering of the seats and armrests, then examined the carpet and the white and black marble …

Someone walked up behind her. It was her drowsy husband, clad in his black morning robe, the hair pulled into a loose tail. He blinked several times and looked around him. "Nice work," he mumbled and yawned behind a hand.

Narcissa could only look at him. 'Nice work'? That was all he had to say to… to _that_? No, no, certainly not. She knew in seconds, Lucius would be fully awake and enraged.

The lord of the manor glanced around and nodded – more to himself than to her. "About time," he said, and rubbed his face to chase away the sleep. "Delightfully tasteful as always, my dear, but next time, let me know when you decide to redecorate." He turned around and left, not even noticing the baffled expression of his wife, who looked at him as if he had grown another head.

She shook her own. As if she would do such a thing without speaking with him in advance! Of course she knew, who was responsible for this. There was only _one person_ who would dare such a thing without asking permission. And she would have a long conversation with him about it! Couldn't he have discussed it with her before he gave in to the urge to demonstrate his transfiguration skills?

Once again she looked about the hall. Well, the new style _was_ a positive change. Best of all, she couldn't see the inhuman face of Voldemort at the head of the table anymore. Truthfully, the white and black marble with the carpet matched well the family's emblem, but she was indeed amazed by Lucius' lack of reaction to the change, done without his permission. But, again, she noticed he _was_ acting a little strange over the last days. She didn't know what was troubling him, but troubled he was. She knew her husband inside out – like her son.

She turned around to walk to her salon, but a soft snoring brought her back. Glancing at the two portraits, she found them sound asleep. Odd! Usually they were awake and chatting long before she or Lucius rose. Stepping closer she addressed one of them several times, then sighed as she realized that the portraits were suffering from a sleeping spell. She reversed it with a soft flick of her wand.

'_Just you wait, my son, we have much to talk about!'_ she thought and left the dining room; missing the faces of the two young people peeking out from behind one of the curtains; relief written all over them.

Hogwarts' two Head-Students darted back to their rooms, guided by Pipsy, who had waited for them behind a large Chinese vase in the hallway. With a look of apology, she had signalled quiet and crept ahead of them down the corridor, startling at every sound. But, oh wonder, they made it back to their rooms without being caught.

Draco grinned as they reached their hallway – "Victory!" he whispered, and winked at her before he slipped into his own room, to dress for the day. He felt the familiar and welcome discomforts in his body, results of last night's sweet activities. Opening the curtains with one flick of his wand, he turned to Pipsy, who was nervously asking forgiveness because she had fallen asleep.

"Pipsy will iron her hands for letting young master down and…"

That got his attention. The image was shocking to him. Before Hermione, he'd never thought about the helpful house sprites, but after witnessing the cruel barbarity during the war, the thought of allowing someone to torture themselves made him shudder. He gulped to think what his sweet Kitten would think of him if one of the house elves would punish herself during her stay. Interrupting Pipsy's _mea culpa,_ he dropped to his knee and took her tiny shoulders in his hands.

"Listen, Pipsy, and listen very closely. You didn't let me down. Rather the opposite! You helped Hermione by waking me up last night. You did your duty and alerted me before my mother got here. So there is no reason whatsoever for you to punish yourself, do you understand?"

The large eyes were filled with tears by now and the chin quivered. "B-b-but Pipsy lied to the lady!" she sniffled, and Draco smiled.

"I'll bet you didn't. I'll bet you never even mentioned Hermione or me or the dining room, did you?" More tears leaked as she shook her head. He cocked his. "And you did a fine job. Brilliant idea to sneeze like that. Without your warning, we would have been caught." He rose. "So, no hurting yourself, understand?"

As expected, the house elf burst into tears, sobbing loudly, "Thank you, young master!" Draco sighed, and asked himself for the first time what kind of spell or curse forced the elves to hurt themselves as soon as they thought they weren't loyal to the families they served. Maybe – just maybe! – Hermione was right, that something should be done about that law concerning house elves. To control them like this was wrong and -

Draco caught himself. Here he was, pondering about the moral legality of enslaving house elves as they had for centuries now. Someone should whack him on the back of the head. Dismissing the grateful, still weeping Pipsy – and blessing the silence she left behind – the Head-Boy threw himself on his bed, just to rest his eyes. He thought back on the dining room and how it looked now in the sunlight with the new décor. He liked it, and obviously his father did, too, which was good.

His father …

Draco was blown sideways by Lucius' reaction. He had expected a detonation from the older man, a fit that would have led to several ... um ... uncomfortable actions, but what had happened? Lucius complimented the new look, mumbled something Draco couldn't understand, and walked away. Regrettably, he had missed the face of his mother, but he smiled crookedly as he imagined her expression: shock written on her beautiful face, mind in turmoil. And not only because of the transformed hall, but also about her husband's reaction. Draco grinned. If his father really liked the new style then they would keep the room like it was now – something he looked forward to.

A soft slap followed by tapping on the window attracted his attention. Turning his head he saw an owl watching him through the glass. Muggles would have found it incomprehensible that someone could read the expression of a bird, but in the case of _this_ bird, even the most insensitive Muggle could not fail to see that this owl was in bad mood. Sighing, Draco rose and let the bird in – a barn owl – and offered a cracker from the desk to the feathered messenger, as he untied the letter. The owl eyed the treat, took it and made itself comfortable on his desk, putting its head beneath one wing. (It had arrived last evening, but gotten no reply from inside the house, so it had to wait until it heard voices from inside and announced itself again – this time with success.)

Draco unfolded the scrap, took his wand and whispered a charm, and found himself holding a two-page letter in his hand a moment later. Frowning, he glanced at the unfamiliar handwriting turned to the signature on the second page. _Luna Lovegood? _Since when did Looney write to him? He began to read and the expression on his face turned from curious to tense. So, Abdelghani and Layla had been active lately? And why did Layla …

There was a knock at his door, and startled, he hastily folded the letter, shrank it again and put it in the waistband of his pyjamas, before he called, "Come in!"

It was his mother who entered, and lifted a brow. "Good morning, Draco. Still in bed?"

"I just got up," he answered, telling himself that this was _almost_ the truth. After all he only got up a quarter hour ago. He placed a kiss on her cheek, returning her glance before hers shifted to his throat, then back to his tousled hair and finally found his eyes again.

"Yes, I can understand that you were still in bed. It must have been a ... stressful night for you." She moved past him and for a moment, he nearly panicked, then he calmed himself. His mother couldn't know about him and Hermione and their activities last night. "What do you mean?" he asked carefully. She sat down in one of his armchairs, gracefully crossing her long legs.

"The work you did in the dining room is lovely, and certainly long past due." She saw him blushing, and looked again at his neck… a love-bite? – and continued: "Your father was duly impressed with your choice of style, but would you explain to me please why you did it at night, secretly, without asking us about it?"

Telling the truth would be easy now. He was sure his mother would understand, for she had endured shame and humiliation there as well, and would have known how Hermione felt, but an inner voice warned him not to bring up Hermione just now. So he took a deep breath and answered: "I thought I could surprise you."

Narcissa eyed him a moment, then she snorted. "That you did, son, in spades. I'm still bewildered by the fact that your father took it so well." Draco raised his eyebrows at his mother – for this was supposed to be the first he'd heard about it. "Oh yes, he seemed quite satisfied with it when he saw it. Why the Empire style?"

Draco shrugged. "I like the style. It's ... lighter, I guess, not heavy like the other furniture, and I thought it would fit the room." He sat down on the edge of his bed, trying to stay as close to the truth as possible. "I always saw _him_ sitting at our table, mocking and threatening, stealing father's wand. He was always there– like a ghost haunting the house."

Narcissa looked thoughtfully at him, then she nodded. "I know what you mean. I felt the same and I'm sure the same goes for your father. Perhaps the change will chase away the ghosts of the past." She rose, her expression grew firm. "But the next time you want to redecorate, please ask us first. Lucius thinks that it was I who performed the transfiguration, and I didn't bother to correct him, because I do think you are already in enough trouble regarding that silly trip to London and what came of it. But please share your intentions concerning the house with your father or me." She lifted one hand as her son opened his mouth and continued. "I can understand why you did it. I had thought about a rearrangement of the room, too, but I would have liked to have some say. And, one thing more - when you put the portraits to sleep the next time, please lift the spell when you're done. I think your great great uncle will be upset that he was not able to watch the sunrise. You know that he ordered his portrait to be hung at that special spot in the dining room to greet the morning every day."

Draco resisted rolling his eyes and nodded instead. _Uncle Carlisle and his sunrises…_

Narcissa walked to the door, but stopped before exiting. "And Draco? Be sure you put an illusion charm on your neck. I don't think your father would appreciate to get a proof of just how 'close' you and Miss Granger are working."

Draco's hand flew over the spot. Blood rushed into his face and for just a moment, he was lost for words, stuttered: "A ... a mosquito bite."

Lifting a brow, his mother glared at him. "Really? In December?" She looked pointedly around in the room. "Perhaps I should ask one of the house elves to find the little beast. It must be ancient by now, after two or three months indoors, and certainly easy to find." Her narrowed eyes told him that it would be better if he just kept his mouth shut. Swallowing nervously, he watched his mother leaving, then sighed deeply. _Not a good start to the day_.

It got no better when he and his guest entered the private salon half an hour later, where his father sat reading the _Daily Prophet_. He was still wearing his morning robes like his wife, and glanced up at them as they entered. Draco took it as a good sign they felt comfortable enough around Hermione to 'dress down'. But Lucius' expression was tense.

"Good morning," he greeted them, waited for the polite exchange, and cleared his throat. "I regret to inform you that your little trip to London has rocked the boat more than you anticipated." He offered his son the newspaper.

Draco took it and scanned the headlines. And then his jaw dropped. "_WHAT_?"

Hermione was at his side and now reading over his shoulder. And there it blared off the page: _'New attack on Malfoy Manor – Son lifted wards to protect Head-Partner…'_ Quickly both read the article, wide-eyed and shocked. Then they stared at each other – not good! – and finally at the parents. Draco blurted, "This is completely nonsense!"

"Ohhhh, I hope the Weasleys don't get the _Daily Prophet_ where they are," Hermione moaned.

Draco frowned. "If the Weasel gets nasty again, I'll send him back to Detention. He's your smallest problem."

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, scanned the article again and hissed when saw the signature beneath it. "I knew it. I _knew it_! Of course, that ... that _harpy_ again!" Two pairs of eyebrows raised at her and she growled: "Rita Skeeter! That awful, nosy, self centred hateful woman! She _loves_ stories like this and twists the facts so badly you don't recognize your own words anymore, let alone the event she writes about!"

Lucius sighed. "I know. I made a statement before Shacklebolt's office, but I don't recognize any of it in the article."

Narcissa watched the young witch. "I remember what Rita Skeeter wrote about you four years ago-"

"It was a complete fabrication! Nothing more!" Hermione growled, her face flushed in anger.

"So … you and Mr. Potter were never … well … a couple?" Narcissa asked, ignoring the pointed glare of her husband and looked curiously at the girl.

Hermione blinked. "Excuse me?"

Mrs. Malfoy gave her a half smile. "Well, all those articles during the Triwizard Tournament about you and Harry Pott-"

"Not a word about them was true," Hermione replied indignantly. "She made it all up because I wouldn't give her an interview about Harry. She made him look like a pathetic teary-eyed orphan. Her questions were far too personal, and when I refused to do an interview with her, she paid me back with that garbage!"

Narcissa lifted a brow. Again she saw that you couldn't get to this girl by pressuring her. She saw her integrity was secure. And, for the first time, she could imagine herself in Hermione's place. "I know what you mean. I suspect I would have shut her up before she knew what hit her."

"Eventually, that's what I did," she shrugged. "I thought I had silenced her, but it seems I will have to remind her to report _truthfully_ about me and my friends!"

Not noticing the bemused glances between the adults, Draco asked, "She wrote a lot of trashy stuff about you, and then, suddenly stopped. What did you do to her?"

"You noticed that?"

"Of course, Kitten." (His father's nose twitched while his mother pursed her lips by hearing this pet-name.) "Give me a little credit here. I know that you and Potter are good friends. I have eyes. I watched your little trio for years. Saying that about you and Potter was rubbish!"

Hermione sighed and lowered her head.

Lucius had unwillingly gotten interested. _'So, Miss Granger-Goody-Two-Shoes managed to gag the gossip reporter and has been successful for four years? That is… interesting.' _"What you did to stop Rita Skeeter? I've never known anyone who could shut her up."

She bit her lip and finally answered: "I… learned a secret about her she doesn't want to have published and … well … we both made a deal that she stopped writing about us and I keep my mouth shut." She found herself the focal point of three incredulous gazes. "What?"

It was Lucius, who answered: "I never thought I'd see the day a _Gryffindor_ would blackmail someone to gain an advantage."

Hermione's face flushed even more, and Draco chuckled with a sideward glance at her: "I already told you that you have a lot of Slytherin in you – but you hide it well."

Nearly sticking her tongue out at him again, the young witch huffed and took the newspaper from him, checking the articles. And while Draco now looked over her shoulder, Narcissa exchanged another look with her husband. The girl was impressive. And Narcissa was increasingly convinced that her son saw even more in her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Hermione is WHERE?"

Ron had forgotten to eat, which spoke volumes.

Harry dropped the _Daily Prophet _to the table and rubbed his scar, a habit now. "She's at Malfoy Manor. Listen:

_This reporter's unimpeachable sources have confirmed that the son of the family – Draco Malfoy, also a final-year student at Hogwarts – lifted the wards to allow his Head-partner, whom he visited in London, access to the house. This reporter has discovered that Rabastan Lestrange and his fellows pursued Malfoy minor and the well-known war hero, Hermione Granger, from London to Wiltshire. The resulting combat brought new destruction and injury to the family that was known to be loyal to the Dark Lord. As before, a house elf informed the Aurors and they arrived in time to save the family and their unexpected guest._

_In this context, we must ask ourselves: are the attacks of Death Eaters in the Muggle museum – the story very competently reported by the _Daily Prophet _above – and the pursuit of the young Malfoy and Miss Granger connected? _

_Additionally, inquiring minds must ask, why was young Malfoy visiting his Head- partner at all? What's going on inside Hogwarts if students from Slytherin-House and Gryffindor-House – whose House enmity is legendary in this country – are suddenly paying each other visits outside of school? _

_Albus Dumbledore, who still is still regarded as the wisest wizard of our times, always maintained the vision of House unity regarding all the houses of Hogwarts. Now we are wondering if his wish has finally had come true – at least between this year's Head-Students. _

_Classmates of Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy revealed to this reporter that the two worked together with obvious enjoyment to organize the Christmas ball at Hogwarts and witnessed dancing intimately with each other; and now visiting each other while on holiday, and possibly being a part of the chaos in the Muggle- world. And, as I personally learned from Mr. Lucius Malfoy, Miss Granger will remain as a guest at the family home until the end of the Christmas holiday to ensure the safety of her and her parents – address unknown._

_We must ask ourselves if our heroine, Miss Granger, has now changed sides, turning her loyalty towards a young former Death Eater, whose family followed the Dark Lord for decades? Is it the temptation of the forbidden, or something more?_

_Rita Skeeter._

The entire room was staring at Harry as he finished the account. Ginny spoke up first. "That sensationalist gossiping hag! She has to put her nose in everyone's business and drag it into the dirt! Draco and his family are protecting Hermione. She should write about _why_ it was necessary for the Malfoys to help Hermione instead of looking for double meanings!"

Harry dropped the paper and glanced at her. His expression gave nothing away, but Ginevra knew her boy friend well enough. Harry sensed what was happening, and realized that Rita Skeeter was probably seeing the truth this time without seeing it.

Ron gulped down his tea, leaned over the table and tore the newspaper from his friend's hand, almost knocking over the teapot. With reddening cheeks he read the article again, biting his lips. Harry was certain he would see steam coming out of his ears.

Arthur reached for the marmalade. "If I understand her correctly, then the attack on Muggle London reported yesterday had something to do with our Hermione and the young Malfoy." He hesitated. "What were they _doing_ together in Muggle London?"

Harry had a very good idea: she and Draco were at the Museum. Rita Skeeter was right, the two had been at the British Museum and Lestrange had attacked there. And he knew why Hermione and Malfoy had visited the exhibits: they were tracking the 'Egyptian riddle'. He had no clue how Lestrange found them there, but was certain Malfoy had taken Hermione with him to his home. It was there that all of them had fought off the Death Eaters and Hermione was now with him. And Harry had some firm suspicions as to what the two students were doing in Malfoy Manor.

Ron seemed to share his opinion, throwing the newspaper beside his plate and crossing his arms.

Fleur lifted a brow. "At least she is safe," she said softly, and Bill nodded.

"Yeah, old Lucius will be on his best behaviour. He and his family are still under observation."

"Maybe he sees a chance to prove he is rehabilitated, if he helps Hermione now," Arthur nodded. He pointed at the newspaper. "She made the right decision, not returning to her parents. Knowing the Death Eaters, they would have followed her, and the Grangers would be history now."

"Do you trust Malfoy?" George asked.

His father made a thoughtful pause, then shook his head. "No, not Lucius. I know him too well. Yes, he has probably discovered that he can't stay true to his old ways anymore and maybe – just _maybe_! – the war and Voldemort's visits at the manor have taught him something, but this man is calculating to his bones. If he welcomes Hermione – a Muggle-born and best friend of Harry and Ron – in his home, then he does it with ulterior motives. He is a very practical man." He caught curious glances and explained: "How do you think the wizarding world will take the news that Lucius Malfoy is giving shelter to a Muggle-born whose parents are in danger from Death Eaters? It will certainly raise his reputation."

"Yeah, and the Ferret can wind his web around her mind even more," Ron growled.

His mother blinked. "What do you mean, Ronald?"

His angry eyes found hers. Ginny groaned and Harry sighed. "What do I mean?" His voice rose slightly. "I mean that that slimy git is seducing her, pretending to be the hero now by standing up for her and flattering her."

Molly frowned. "Ronald, I think we've heard enough about that subject. You already overdid it back in Hogwarts and-"

"You didn't see 'em, Mum," he interrupted her. "During the Christmas feast! They barely left each other's side, dancing and flirting with each other. Or the way they slow danced during lessons. I swear, any closer, and they would have made love on the dance floor."

"Mon Dieu!" Fleur rolled her eyes. "W'at a sin: dancing with the 'ead partner!"

Arthur refilled his teacup. "Hermione and the young Malfoy – together? Nonsense, Ron!"

"You haven't seen them, Dad. They-"

"Ronald Weasley, if you continue to spread gossip and lies about her, you can't blame her if she turns away from you," Molly snapped.

"But Mom -"

"If the young Malfoy really is trying to win her, then you can't hold onto her by playing the pouting little boy or by screaming at her like a lunatic, but by being better than he is. A woman has to be won with romance, trust and love, and not with yelling, accusations and sulking," Mrs. Weasley snapped, then she shook her head. "Really, Ron, you still have to learn a lot about women, it seems!"

"I'm more interested in why Hermione and Malfoy were in London at the museum. Did she tell you about her plans before you left Hogwarts?" Arthur attempted to change the subject before a full-blown argument ensued.

Harry shrugged; knowing that he had to be careful now. "She told us that there is a large exhibit from Egypt in the British Museum, and she really wanted to see it because of our guests."

Arthur's interest was piqued. "So… Muggles have information about ancient Egypt, too?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. They deciphered the hieroglyphs and found many, many artefacts in the old tombs. I can imagine that Hermione was investigating them."

"But why invite Malfoy?" Fleur asked, folding her napkin.

Harry groaned, wishing she hadn't brought him up again. He took a deep breath. "I don't know. Maybe they met there by accident, or Draco wanted to go, too and arranged with Hermione to meet him there. Don't forget, he was raised without any contact with Muggles. If he tried to visit the museum alone he would be lost."

"But why should he want to learn about it at all? – thanks, Mom." Bill took the plate of bacon his mother offered him.

"He is the Head-Boy this year and responsible for our guests, like Hermione is," Ginny answered. "Perhaps he thought he could get some background for them. He and Hermione have teamed up because of their duty – and they do a really good job as senior students this year!"

"Yeah, they make a really 'good team'," Ron growled and his two brothers sighed as they saw the snow his magic was fluttering down on him, revealing his bad mood.

Harry exchanged a quick glance with Ginny; he knew that something was going on with Hermione and Draco. Something that was connected with the strange events in and around Hogwarts. And he could only bide his time until he could learn firsthand from the Head-Girl why she and Malfoy _really_ had been in the British Museum and what they discovered…

TBC…

_Well, it was clear that the rest of the Golden Trio and the Weasleys would learn about Hermione's whereabouts, wasn't it? And that our sweet bookworm is slowly but steadily succeeding to make the Malfoys see more in her than 'only' a Muggle-born was something I loved to write – exactly like the scene when Narcissa discovers the re-decoration. Just imagine the shock you would go through by developing that your dining-room is completely changed within one night (love, it would spare a lot of work, if we could do such magic). _

_In the next chapter our two Head-Students are going to do some exploring and will stumble over something that was lost to the whole world. Humor, excitement and thrilling moments are laying ahead, so you can look forward to the next installment. _

_I would love to get some more reviews, so please, please leave some comments. _

_Once again: Have a beautiful 1. Advent, _

_love from Germany, _

_yours Lyhwn!_


	56. The Hidden Library

_Hallo, my dear Readers!_

_And once again it lasted longer until the next chapter could be uploaded, but just right now before Christmas the so-called 'silent time' is running like mad. I do hope you're still eager to read what will happen next, especially when now something happens you all are waiting for._

_I wish you fun, _

_Thank you once again for all the lovely and nice reviews,_

_Have a beautiful 3. Advent,_

_Yours Lywhn_

**Chapter 55 – The Hidden Library**

Draco and Hermione remained in the manor library the entire morning and into the afternoon, checking all the books they found in the 'forbidden' section Draco had described. They were grateful that Lucius allowed them their privacy, but they were certain that he would appear any moment. Yes, he had provided a lot of assistance, but they knew that he would go straight to McGonagall or Shacklebolt if he thought the affair too dangerous for them. Pipsy brought them a light lunch, salad and fresh warm bread, but their hard work didn't repay them with success. There was simply no more information in this library. There was no additional clue regarding Slytherin's travels after his departure from Hogwarts, nor were there any hints as to how he was connected to Penhuibin's followers. Both were beginning to wonder of there simply was no connection, and they had reached a dead end.

"That's it – I give up!"

Draco threw his hands in the air, blowing out his cheeks in frustration, glaring at the dozens of books and parchments spread around them. "Slytherin was in Egypt, all right, but what he did there or if he had anything to do with those wonkers at all is as lost as his grave."

"Or in the Hidden Library," Hermione sighed, rubbing her tired eyes, and Draco rolled his.

"Granger, forget it. I am so sorry I even told you about that place at all!" He frowned, chewing his lip.

But Hermione wouldn't be Hermione if she gave up. Placing an ancient text back on the shelf on the back wall of the well-hidden secret room of the library, she shook her head. "Your father said that the Hidden Library would open when the moment was right. Well, we – I mean you and your family – are certainly in need of this advice or at least a few answers. A better moment will not come again."

Draco strolled towards her, his hands stuck in his trouser pockets. "And what do you think we should do? Call on at my ancestor - or Slytherin himself - and hope we can land on a charm or spell that will open a secret passage?"

She smirked. "Yeah, something like that. Knowing the inclinations of the Malfoys, can you honestly believe that any of your family – your ancestors - would ever try just _asking?_"

The young man grimaced. "Mione, don't you think that there have been one or two Malfoys in the score of generations who might have come up with the same idea?"

She cocked her head, remembering all those portraits with the arrogance exhibited from their elevated noses. "Well … perhaps, but: was your family in any kind of danger at those times or really in desperate need for the kinds of knowledge Salazar Slytherin and other dark wizards left? Have conditions ever been as perfect as now? And truly, would a Malfoy just _ask_ for help?"

"Our family was in danger for more than two years, Kitten, don't forget. Remember Voldemort?"

Leaning her back against the bookshelf, Hermione pursed her lips. "Did your father try to find the Hidden Library then?"

"What?" Draco stared. "Of course not! Just imagine if Father _had _found it – with Aunt Bella and Voldemort around the corner! If Slytherin has indeed left some of his personal documents in the possession of the first Malfoys and those parchments were protected before the Muggle-priests burned down the first manor, then nothing would have been able to stop Voldemort. He was powerful enough, even without the advantages its contents would have given him!"

"See?" Her index finger poked him in the chest. "My point exactly. Your father didn't try yet! And now our entire civilization is in danger again if the Egyptians can raise Penhuibin. Perhaps THAT is the key to the hidden passage!"

"_If_ that's what they're up to. And _if_ their goal is Penhuibin. And _if_ we are on the right track, you mean!"

"You doubt what we're doing?" Hermione's eyes met his, and groaning, Draco rubbed his face; his silver ring sparkling in the torchlight, for there were no windows in that portion of the library.

"No, I don't doubt what we've discovered so far. The proof is there. But…" He stopped, lost for words. They were now going down a one-way street, and he did not like it. Not. One. Bit!

"No more buts," she replied. "We have exhausted all the possibilities. We have to try the impossibilities. So next-"

"All right! – just to shut you up!" Malfoy snapped. "Really, Granger, you are worse than a mule!" She only lifted a brow, still leaning, and crossed her arms. Draco knew that look. Surrendering, he raised his voice. "Lord Slytherin?" he asked mockingly. "This is Draco Abraxas Malfoy, a direct descendant of your good friend. The times are dark and our family needs your help, Lord Slytherin, so please aid us with your wisdom." His gaze swept the shelves and ceiling around them. "Sir Borealis Malfoy the Third., I humbly request that you grant us a boon and lift the spell that keeps the hidden documents safe and open the passage to the knowledge of our family and our family's mentor Salazar Slytherin." He flourished his wand in three tight circles, ending with it pointing toward the ceiling and looking, for all the world, like a renaissance lightning rod. He cocked his head, thinking of himself a fool, and sneering at Hermione.

He finally relaxed, leaning on the shelf across from her, tapping his foot and glaring at her. "Now you'll just say I did it wro -"

There was a sudden rumbling sound, followed by Hermione's scream as she vanished from one second to the next – not into thin air, but falling through the opening as the bookshelf she was leaning on swung back into darkness. The scream and the resultant thud left him standing stunned. The moan that came next brought him out of his paralysis. Calling her name, Draco was at the doorway. He barely made out Hermione, sitting before him on the floor. "_Lumos!"_ he demanded, and in the light of his wandtip, he was looking down on her. "Are you injured?"

Hermione slowly moved to stand, rubbing her hip. "Ow, that _hurt!_"

He sighed, relief flying all over him – as long as she complained, she was okay – and bending down he helped her to her feet. She dusted off her clothes as best she could, but it was a futile effort, for it surrounded them both now, making them cough.

Hermione rubbed her bottom, "That'll leave a mark." She stopped as she saw the look on his face. Eyes wide, mouth agape, he looked past her, he did not appear to be breathing. Following his gaze, Hermione also saw, in the dim light of the wand the reason for his astonishment: a narrow stone staircase descending into the dark. "Do… do you think… could this be…?" She didn't dare to finish her sentence.

"I… I don't know," he finally whispered. His mind had gone blank for several moments with the realization that this could indeed be _the way to the Hidden Library_ – which would mean that the _legend was real_. Gulping again he carefully stepped over the threshold; his heart racing around in his chest and his throat. He shuddered as the truth hit him: If this really were the secret passage to the Hidden Library, then they had found something generations of Malfoys had fruitlessly searched for. If this indeed was the entrance to the room that was a part of the first manor almost thousand years ago, then there were unimaginable treasures waiting for them, which had been lost for _centuries_.

"One way to find out," Hermione mumbled and reached for her wand – which lay across the room on their research table. Sighing – Draco was right, she did have a tendency to be without her wand over the last months – she addressed him, blushing. "Uh… could you ...?"

He blinked uncomprehendingly. "Huh?"

"My wand. I don't want to… um ..."

This all-too-familiar request seemed to bring the stunned young wizard back to the present, and with a sigh he waved his own. "_Accio_ Granger's wand!" Handing it to her, she smiled gratefully, and lit it also.

"Are we going down?" she asked and Draco nodded, only to stop her.

"Wait! We don't know if the door closes as soon as we are out of range." He turned around. "Pipsy?" he called firmly, "come here!"

Hermione frowned. "Couldn't you do that more politely?"

Draco ignored her comment as Pipsy appeared with a crack in before them. "Master Draco called Pipsy?" Then the elf's protuberant eyes grew even larger when she saw the open passage and the stairway descending into the darkness.

"Yes, wait here and stay exactly on this threshold." Draco bent down and tapped at her shoulder, as the house elf didn't respond immediately. "Do you hear me, Pipsy? It's very important that you stay exactly _here_ on this threshold. We don't know if the door will close if no one remains at the opening, and then we might be caught inside, possibly forever. Do you understand?"

Pipsy, whose eyes finally drifted to her master, nodded solemnly. "Yes, Master Draco, Pipsy will stay right here." She looked up to him. "The young master is being careful!"

For a moment he nearly smiled at her. "Yes, I will." Then he turned towards Hermione. "Ready?"

"Always," she nodded with poorly concealed excitement, bruise forgotten.

"Gryffindors!" he sighed, and tried the first stair by slowly shifting his full weight onto it. But the stone was solid, and nothing erupted from the walls. Hermione winced, half expecting a guardian phantom to leap a them from the depths, but was relieved when nothing came at them. Warily he climbed down the steep passage, Hermione right behind him, wands alight, eyes darting about them. Hermione kept to the centre of each stair, hand on Draco's shoulder, very much aware of the nasty surprises a Malfoy might have arranged for a visiting Muggle-born.

After the second 90 degree turn, the stair was lit by a rod of light set into the wall. "Do you recognize that?" she asked him.

He shook his head. "I've never seen anything like it. The spell for that must have been lost over the years." They kept moving, and doused their wands, holding them ready. Other rod lights appeared upon each landing. The air was stale. Dust puffed up with every step they took hung in the air behind them. The walls were made of fitted flagstone, similar to the stones of which the manor was built. Some feet below the door, they reached a level where the walls turned suddenly black, burned. Both teens stopped and looked at each other.

"This part was destroyed by the flames," Hermione said quietly, rubbing her fingertips over the soot from the destruction that happened more than six hundred years ago. Draco nodded, moistening dry lips. They exchanged a glance, both imagining the beautiful home eaten by hostile flames, and kept moving – wands ready, legs trembling and hearts thudding in their ears.

A few more steps further, the stonework changed. The soot-blackened walls became pale ones, free of soot, and between them thin layers of old stones, without mud or concrete, just like the first castles built a millennia ago. The temperature had fallen, and soon a mouldy scent mingled with the musty air.

"We must now be beneath the cellar level," Draco whispered; lowering his voice in the close, mysterious environment. "I'm certain that those who built the new manor did not know about these ruins. They would have mentioned it in the construction plans." He moved more carefully now as he reached a heavily shadowed segment of stairs. "Grandfather studied the documents concerning the new building for decades. If there had been the slightest hint of a passage like this, magically connected to the construction of the new manor, he would have fou – aaaa-AAAHHHHHH!"

He'd nearly stumbled and fallen, but Hermione had grabbed him by the collar, steadying him before his balance was lost. "Thanks," he gasped, breathing hard. The edge of the step he had just put his weight on crumbled under it. Moving even more slowly, the two finally arrived at the bottom.

Before them, a door that appeared to be made of metal. There was no lock, no handle, no indication of how to open it, only a long snake that coiled around the frame. Hermione remembered another door like this, and shivered. "_Lumos!"_ they said together.

The moment the light of the two wands shone on it, the serpent's head began to move. The metallic tongue darted out, and blind eyes turned toward them. It hissed something in another language and Draco frowned, only to sag in frustration. "By Salazar's knotty wand, why didn't I think of _that_."

Hermione pursed her lips and watched the magical serpent that hissed again, sounding more insistent. "Was Borealis a Parselmouth?" she asked, forehead wrinkling.

He sighed deeply. "It is said that some of the first Malfoy line were able to speak some Parseltongue, taught by Slytherin himself, but…" He shoved his fingers through his blond hair, not realizing how much worse he'd smudged it.

Rubbing her chin, she thought a moment. "The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was sealed and would only open to Parseltongue. Harry understood the basilisk and answered its questions, opening the entrance like that. Later, during the Battle of Hogwarts, Ron and I returned to the Chamber of Secrets to retrieve some basilisk fangs to destroy the Horcruxes. Neither Ron nor I could speak it, bur Ron remembered the words Harry had used to open the locket and imitated it – with the result that the entrance to the chamber opened. Let me see what I can do."

Draco listened to her with interest, then shook his head. "There's no stopping you three when you're on a mission, is there?" He caught her grin and glanced back at the waiting serpent. "So what did it sound like when Potter hissed?"

Clearing her throat, Hermione closed the distance to him and directed her attention to the guardian. Then she made a horrible strangled hissing noise – and Draco stepped back, thinking that sound might give a cobra chills. The head in front of her swayed slightly and the forked tongue darted out one more time, as if deciding whether to accept the pathetic approximation of its language or not.

"I hope it made some kind of sen-" The rest of her sentence became a squeak of pain, as the metallic head of the snake lashed at her and struck her, drawing blood. For a long moment, panic flew all over her. _What if this guardian had known that she was Muggle-born? What if wizards with Muggle-blood weren't allowed here and were automatically cursed and killed? What if the fangs were poisonous?_

Draco seemed to think the same. He immediately yanked her back, dropping her to the floor and flinging himself on top, when the metallic serpent attacked again. A sharp pain from metallic teeth struck his right leg as the snake's head lashed out, drawing blood from the young wizard, too.

The Malfoy heir was almost numb with shock, then he felt anger welling up. He had no idea if the bite was fatal or if this were only a test, but one thing he knew – that fiend had attacked not only him, but also _his_ _girl_ – something he would _not_ tolerate! Raising his wand, he sent a spell at the guardian, powerful enough to make the wall explode. There was a brilliant flash, but the door and – more importantly, the frame with the snake - remained untouched. Only the blind head of the serpent retreated as if surprised, but retreated and again swayed from side to side. It reminded him very much of the tall cobra back in Hogwarts, which he knew had been Abdel.

Not daring to move, they waited. When a second attack didn't come, he rose and moved carefully back toward the staircase. "You okay?" he whispered, pulling her with him.

In the dim light of her still glowing wandtip, their eyes met, both of them scared, before she nodded bravely. But before he could ask her another question, a deep sigh echoed through the cold still air – full of weariness, sorrow and regret, but also with relief and hope.

Both teens went rigid. Whoever ... had sighed ... was nearby – or, more clearly, _around_ them.

A different sound at the door, and they watched the guardian's long slender body leaving its hovering position and curling up again as if nothing had happened. A metallic creaking ... and the door slowly opened.

For a long moment, they could only stare at the entrance, their uneven breathing the only sound. Draco collected all of his newfound courage (he inwardly cursed the unwelcome valour that seemed to befall him over the last months whenever when something became dangerous) and put Hermione behind him, ready to protect her if necessary, the two spots the guardian serpent had inflicted on him now almost forgotten.

"How's your arm?" he murmured.

"Not bad." In the light of her wand she quickly examined the injury on her arm and frowned. "The bite … it's almost closed."

Not wanting to take his eyes from the door, Draco carefully pulled his right trouser leg up and risk a quick glance at the two tiny, bleeding points. He pursed his lips. "Mine too!" he whispered.

_What was the meaning of all this?_

Hermione, whose rational and always active mind was already examining possible answers, gulped and murmured: "What, if … if this was a … a kind of test for the blood status?" In the twilight she met his alarmed glance.

"No Malfoy has ever accepted Muggle-borns!" He turned toward her, his face troubled. "Perhaps you should go back upstairs!" There was a low _thud_, and when he looked over his shoulder, he realized that the entrance now stood wide open.

"I don't know how you read it, but that looks like an invitation to me," she pointed out.

"Really?" he retorted sarcastically. "But the question is: An invitation for both of us or only for me?" He watched her expression grow dark, and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Hermione, be reasonable. This_ is _Malfoy Manor after all, and even if you are the brightest witch of our age and certainly one of the most gifted magicians Muggles ever gave us," – he ignored her blush – "I'm almost certain that the spells on this library will not allow you to cross the threshold. Maybe this _is_ a trap and-"

"Draco?" Hermione interrupted him; her gaze had changed from wonder to fear and was directed behind him.

He spun, stiffening, and braced himself against the unexpected, wand ready. And then he saw what she saw: not a chimera, a sphinx, nor an enchanted serpent – but two gently glowing ghosts, a man and a woman. Both students were accustomed to having ghosts around – after all Hogwarts had several, and even Professor Binns was a ghost – but seeing two restless souls that obviously lived under his home for centuries caught him by surprise.

The man was average height, as far as Hermione could tell. He had probably still been young when he died, and he carried and air of sadness as well as determination. Hair, long and pale, swept down to his elbows, an ancient robe hung from broad shoulders, the classical features with the high cheekbones indicated his identity immediately - a Malfoy, indeed. The woman at his side had long dark hair falling to her hips. She wore a simple dress with long sleeves, a kind of tiara, but nothing else that might indicate her status. Her face was sweet and beautiful, with large eyes and full lips, her features completely unknown to both of them.

Hermione's hand slipped from Draco's cold fingers. "Do … do you think that … that this is one of your ancestors?" she breathed into his ear.

Draco Malfoy was not thinking right now. His mind had frozen. Unlike Hermione, he knew exactly who was floating before them. He had seen this man in an old portrait and on the family tree of the Malfoys that had survived the flight of his family to France all those centuries ago. It made sense that this man who had such a strong link to the world of the living now haunted this place as a ghost.

Wetting his lips Draco whispered, "Borealis Malfoy the Third!"

Hermione's curiosity was getting the better of her, as so often before. "The man who saved the library when the first manor burned?" Her voice sounded loud in the dusty silence, and Draco winced.

"Kitten! Please be quiet!" he hissed, watching the two ghosts carefully. The apparitions said nothing, but waited. And Draco didn't dare make a wrong move. He might activate a spell or curse and he had no desire to get hexed.

"Maybe he was the one who opened the entrance upstairs after he heard you," Hermione whispered warily under her breath. "Perhaps you need to repeat your request?"

Fighting down the dread in his stomach and collecting all of his newly developed audacity, Draco introduced himself again, and repeated his requirement for help. Then he repeated the whole thing in French, his heart in his throat as he waited for a reaction. He knew that, if this person before him were really the restless soul of Borealis Malfoy the Third, there would be a big difference between English and French of today and his day, but Draco was also certain that he made his intention clear for anyone to understand who might be familiar with those two languages.

And he was right.

All of sudden the woman came closer, toward Hermione, and Draco found himself stepping between them. "No! Don't you touch her!" he demanded, pulling Hermione more firmly to him.

The woman stopped, tilted her head, eyed them both, then smiled, turning to her companion, his so-typical Malfoy lack of expression carved into his features. He pointed a transparent hand at Hermione, who held her breath. Draco straightened and said sternly: "She is my betrothed!" Then he said the same in French, too – ignoring Hermione's perplexity.

For several moments (which seemed to take forever) the glowing forms remained where they were, then, soundlessly, without any drama, they turned to each other, embraced and retreated into the now brightened room behind the still open door.

For more than a full minute, the two students waited, but the apparitions did not return, nor did they hear any more from them. Finally, having no other choice, both walked to the door, took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold. More of the lighting apparatuses bathed the entire area in a bright, warm glow, and they saw that they indeed stood in a library – a very, very old one!

Shelves. To their left and right were shelves, stacked high with parchments, documents, hand-written books, even stone tablets… Amazed, Draco stared into the twilit room and then back at the girl. "Hermione, you are a genius!" he smirked.

"Wh-what?"

He grinned: "You had with the right idea. All we had to do was to ASK." He grimaced. "Something no Malfoy would do readily."

Hermione sighed and patted his shoulder. "One of the reasons we survived the war was because Dumbledore promised help to every Hogwarts student who would ask for it. Your family is too proud for its own good."

"Hey!" He smacked her on the arm, making her wince. Instantly he was sorry – _wait! Merlin, this girl was turning him into a sissy!_ – and concern showed on his pale features. "Sorry, Kitten, that was the arm where the snake attacked. Are you all right?"

Brown eyes looked up at him and she smiled. "Yes, almost all healed." Then she took a deep breath and a firm grip on her wand. "Ready?"

"Ready!"

And both crossed the threshold.

The first thing they noticed was that the library was larger than they had suspected. Much larger; even larger than the one above them. In earlier times, it must have been a gorgeous salon. The two lovers could see the frescoes at the ceiling, and above them an intricate iron candelabra hung at a strong chain, covered with dust and webs. A heavy table and chairs were positioned in the middle, also bearing the traces of centuries and a candlestick on the table still held the melted beeswax burned there long before. There was a carpet beneath their feet, the patterns not recognizable beneath the thick layer of dust.

Hermione took in every detail of her surroundings. There were shelves from floor to fresco, covering the walls, with freestanding shelves the centre, creating room dividers, all filled with books, documents, parchments, maps.

The air was dry and clean. The magic of the last first Malfoy was still in effect, even after all those centuries.

The ghosts had disappeared, no hex was hurled in their direction, no magical trap sprang up in their faces. Both sighed in relief and looked at each other. Draco lifted a brow. "He gave us his permission."

"Who?"

"Sir Borealis the Third." He grinned at her. "It really was his ghost!"

She sighed. "I certainly could tell he was a relative. I swear, he looked just like your father."

He dropped a kiss on her temple. "The rest is obvious, too. I knew he wouldn't do anything to you if I told him that you were my betrothed. We Malfoy men are all very resolute when it comes to our prospective spouses." He saw her look of confusion and the resulting blush, pressed a quick kiss on her lips and turned his attention back to the room.

"We did it!" Draco whispered, then shook his head – incredulous and overwhelmed. Then a large smile spread over his face. "We did it, Hermione!" He snaked both arms around her waist and hoisted her up, laughing brightly. "We did it, Granger! You were right! The key of the secret passage was all those centuries directly beneath our noses, but only now was the _right time_ to use it!"

She joined in his delighted laughter, wrapping her arms around his neck, bite forgotten for the moment. "_You_ found it, Draco Abraxas! You succeeded where all the others have failed!"

He set her down and hugged her, beaming from one ear to the other. "No, Kitten, _you_ found it! You figured out the riddle's solution. If you hadn't been so stubborn, I would have never _asked!_" He laid his forehead against hers, his heart galloping. _Ah, victory was so sweet – and then to share it with someone who held his heart_… It was an intense moment he would never forget.

Giggling, Hermione slipped her arms around his hips, and sighed happily as his mouth found hers. Then she hugged him, rubbing her cheek at his shoulder, ignoring the smell of dust and old air – only to begin coughing, as he did the second he buried his face in her hair. Both let go of each other and sniggered as they realized that they were smudged in dust.

"I think a shower will be on the menu. But first…" He nodded towards the shelves, and Hermione – always the book lover – headed towards them; peering almost reverently at the old parchments and books. With great care, she reached for some scrolls and touched them, remembering to breathe when she felt the dry firm material beneath her fingertips. "They… they must be incredibly valuable," she whispered.

Draco nodded. "Yeah – and especially the content…"

"Shall we begin our search?"

Rubbing his neck, Draco hesitated. "We should call my father. He knows the charms and spells to keep old documents safe while reading them. I… I don't dare open them without preparation."

She was disappointed, but she had to agree. "You're right. These documents are irreplaceable. It would be wrong to risk any damage." A cold shiver ran down her spine, as if something had touched her back – a feeling she knew from whenever Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington of Gryffindor brushed past her. She turned and heard Draco gasp the same moment she saw the silvery woman behind her.

The lady's face was gentle, pleased – and so full of sorrow that it tore at her heart. "What is it?" Hermione dared to ask directly. "What do you want, lady?"

Another icy chill ran through both young people, as the ghost if Sir Borealis the Third passed through them.

"Damn, I hate it when they do that," Draco mumbled, but eyed his ancestor. The figure that bore the features of his father looked back at them and beckoned them to follow. At the same time, the woman did the same.

Hogwarts' Head Students hesitated and looked at each other. "They want to show us something," Hermione whispered, and he nodded.

"Yes. And according to what the stories told of _his_ whereabouts, I'm almost certain what we're going to find." He breathed deeply and took the small hand of his little lioness in his pale fingers. "Do you think you can bear the view of someone who is dead for centuries?"

Her eyes grew round as saucers, hearing the implication. "You mean…?" She made an erratic gesture.

Draco nodded. "He stayed behind when the rest of the family fled to France and was never seen again – and his bond to this world was too strong to allow his soul to go free." He knew by now she was brave enough to face anything. Looking into her chocolate eyes, he knew she would attend him.

Hermione bit her lips and looked back toward the ghostly couple not far away, and nodded. Gripping Draco's hand tighter, she straightened. "Let's go!"

Carefully, footsteps slightly muffled by the dust on the floor, they followed the two shining apparitions, advancing deeper and deeper into the old room; the light rods embedded in the walls and the soft glow of the two ghosts driving back the darkness. They passed the massive table and the chairs, only now seeing the heavy carvings in the high backrests and the legs of them – typical for their time. Bowls and a pot made of tin, stood in the middle of the table desk, the water that once filled the pot long gone. Now and again their feet crunched on the detritus of ages.

Then, all of sudden, they had reached the end of the room. Instead of shelves, there was a long padded bench with footrests; certainly offering the family a more comfortable place to read in earlier times. A large, almost black painting hung above it, showing only a pale face with grey eyes and pale blond hair, and candlesticks were affixed at both sides of the frame.

But it wasn't those sights that made the visitors pause, but the two figures on the couch. Even if both had already anticipated – known! – what awaited them, their breaths still caught, and they felt a shudder running down their spines at the sight of the two corpses, holding each other even in death. The dry air had mummified them, the skin now parchment, stretching over the skulls, but their hair was recognizable – his a pale blond, hers nearly black – as well as their clothes, colours lost beneath the dust of years. His head was leaned back against the wall behind him, eyes closed, mouth agape; hers was nestled on his right shoulder, turned towards him, the soft material of her dress – velvet it appeared – spread over his lap and down to the floor, her hair fell over it like a waterfall.

This couple had died in each other's arms.

She looked up at the ghosts to her left, and met the sad gaze of the woman she recognized as the one whose body sat dead before her. Draco had wrapped an arm around her, looking with a strange expression at the two bodies he certainly saw in the dim light of the wands for the first time since the last candle flickered out and he died.

Draco bit his lips. He knew, of course, who the man was who sat before him. No miracle that he had vanished and never been seen again. It was true: He died in the Hidden Library after he sealed it, together with a woman he loved.

_Wait!_

The family history never mentioned a woman in his life, let alone a betrothed or a bride. His mistress, perhaps? But why would he take this woman with him to the grave? Why hadn't he done anything to send her to safety, even if only a mistress? Even if she wasn't worthy to carry the Malfoy name – which he doubted, seeing that this woman must have been very important to Sir Borealis – anyone in his family would have protected her on his behalf. So why…

"Draco?"

Hermione's wand pointed to their right, and frowning, he followed her gesture. His eyes widened, seeing several sheets of parchments on a small bench. On the floor lay the remains of a quill and a dried ink pot. Exchanging a look, they moved closer, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of being so near to the ancient corpses. He took the topmost sheet very carefully, again lighting his wand and bringing the glow close to the writing.

He instantly recognized the old gothic script that had been used from the seventh until the end of the twelfth century to write letters, reports or contracts. The script was rough and unsteady, as if the writer's hand had trembled, but he could nevertheless read it. He needed a moment to get used to the spelling and grammar (or to identify old words which had long ago fallen into disuse), then he started to read again.

"What is it?" Hermione asked at his sharp intake of breath, and stepped nearer. She saw the look on his face and bent down to take the other sheets of parchment, similarly filled with the tiny gothic letters. Reading them was a challenge. She was very good in Ancient Runes, but old scripts had been a random interest for her, a calligraphy hobby she would pursue while in the Muggle world. She began to read, a slow and difficult progress to read the last words of the man on the settee.

Draco's gasp attracted her attention. "What's the matter?"

He gulped visibly and bit his lips, before he answered: "She was shot – with an arrow. One of the Muggles who accompanied the priests and attacked the old manor … Borealis saw it too late." He hesitantly looked at the two dead bodies with compassion and some shock mirrored in this silver eyes. "He tried to save her, but… there was nothing he could do. She…" he swallowed again, "she died in his arms." He pressed his eyes shut for a moment and shook his head. "Muggle weapons are no less deadly than a killing curse, it seems." Hermione held her breath and looked at the couple, gone – but not forgotten. Draco added: "There was no chance for him to save her life. All he could do was bring her to the heart of the mansion, and then…" his voice faltered, "then the fire started!"

They looked at each other, beginning to picture the drama that must have unfolded that fateful day. While the first manor was consumed by flames: the young lady was dying and the young master was unable to save her, taking her with him to the grave full of magic knowledge, written down by eager hands.

"Are…" Hermione cleared her throat, realizing now how tight her chest felt. "Is the arrow still there?"

Draco felt a dart of anger toward this girl and her very practical curiosity, so typical for this particular Gryffindor, then he saw the sorrow in her eyes and the empathy. He moved to the ottoman and bent over the bodies. There, just above the heart of the witch his ancestor clung to even in death, he saw something that made his stomach turn. "There…" Blood. He'd seen too much of it in this house. "There is a hole in her dress… and a dark spot." Nothing more was needed. Sir Borealis wasn't able to save her, but at least he had removed the deadly bolt that had taken his beloved from him.

Draco bit his lips until he knew the metallic taste of his own blood on his tongue. He had read classical dramas – that Shakespeare was among them was something he intended to keep from his father! – had listened to opera – Muggle and Wizardring ones – and had studied the history of his own family and other Purebloods, but to see the literal results of one of those 'stories' made him sick.

Hastily he stepped back. "He brought her to the library, and after he begged the rest of the family to flee, and they took as much with them as they could, he hid them both away, sealed the library and…" he shuddered, "and died, after she died in his arms. He had lost his will to live." He glanced up to the two ghosts still with them, and fixed his ancestor. "Thou didst love her more than life?" he addressed the restless soul of Sir Borealis Malfoy. The ghost did not speak, but kept on looking from him to Hermione and back.

Hermione had scanned the document further, pursed her lips – and hesitated. _What had she read only a second ago? What did it say?_ Her eager eyes followed the written words once again – and she gasped, "Draco?" The pitch of her voice had ascended – the clear signal of how alarmed she was.

He turned back to her. "Yes?"

Her next words thundered in his ears: "Draco, she… she was _Muggle-born_!"

TBC…

_Surprise, surprise! This is certainly something you never imagined, am I right? (laugh) And the little background-story will continue within the next chapter, including a very perplex Lucius Malfoy and two eager Head-Students, which are going to explore more._

_I'm sorry but I don't think that I will be able to install the next part before my holidays, because in one week and two days I'm going on ski-vacation and will be back at the begin of January._

_I wish you all Merry Christmas, a Happy New Year and may the Lord will hold His hands over you all._

_Love from Germany,_

_Yours Lywhn_


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